Fight For Freedom Anniversary Edition
by Chris7221
Summary: It's time to go back to the beginning, to Mossflower. This is the story of a young mouse with a mysterious past, who rose from nothing to become the greatest hero the land has ever known. This is the story of a land shrouded by darkness and war, torn apart and rebuilt into a shining beacon of freedom and virtue. Or so they say, anyway. A rewrite of the first fic I ever posted.
1. Prologue, Murder and Prison

If you're not interested in where this story comes from and just want to read a funny Redwall parody, skip to the italics. But I strongly encourage you not to skip this lengthy tract. You see, the story of this fic is interwoven with my own.

I haven't written a Redwall fic in a long time. Over time, my tastes shifted, and this is reflected in the different fandoms I've written for at different times. Some, like Stargate, I keep going back to because they still haven't lost their appeal to me. Some, like Redwall, I've never looked back from. It's no accident that I haven't written a Redwall fic in over a decade.

But Redwall was a turning point in my story as a writer. The first fic I ever posted online was a Redwall one. Fight for Freedom, a frankly quite bad parody of Mossflower. I think only a handful of people had ever read it, but I was young and hadn't had any exposure yet. Suddenly, I realized I could write this stuff in my head and people would read it. To me at the time, Fight for Freedom was a runaway success that I tried to duplicate for years after.

I dabbled around in Redwall for a bit before switching to Stargate, which remains my favourite sci-fi and one of my favourite fandoms to this day. I wrote Halogate, the first and worst SG-1/Halo crossover. I thought it was the best thing ever, and today I can't even read it. I wrote SGD. It was rough, especially at the beginning, but it had some good ideas, and I was a much better writer by the time I called it quits three years later. I wrote a bunch of little stories before one just happened to take off. Emergence spawned three sequels and a few spinoffs; it was influential and controversial in RWBY circles.

I've pulled back from fanfic a bit. My time is increasingly limited and I want to focus on things with real-life gains. I'm writing a book, building a game, doing school and taking little jobs. I'm wasting more time than I'd like to admit playing Battlefield, trawling Reddit and watching Netflix. I'm slowly plodding away on one fic, a Mass Effect/Stargate crossover and that's about it.

But this one is special enough for me to make time for.

Fight for Freedom was posted ten years ago today. At least to me, it's important. I cringe when I try to read it today- it was an early work and it shows. I've come a long way since then, and if it weren't for the title and this note you might not even realize the fic you're about to read is written by the same guy. But this is where I started. This is where the journey starts.

It's time to go back to the beginning. This is the story of a young mouse with a mysterious past, who rose from nothing to become the greatest hero the land has ever known. This is the story of a land shrouded by darkness and wracked by war, torn apart and rebuilt into a shining beacon of freedom and virtue. This is the story of heroes and villains, of leaders and followers, of protagonists and antagonists and everyone caught between…

 _Late autumn winds whistled around the open gatehouse door, buffeting it back and forth like the rapidly browning trees visible through the opening._

 _Bella of Brockhall drew herself deeper into her armchair by the fire. Eyes half closed, she rooted around with her left paw for a tall amber bottle sitting on the side table. She grabbed, missed, and it went clattering to the floor, joining four others in a pile. Irritated, her eyes snapped open and it was then when she noticed the small brown mouse peering around the doorway._

" _Come in, little one," the old badger growled, reaching down for another bottle and popping its top off. She took an experimental swig, the familiar burn of rye whisky cascading down her throat. "Or don't. Just close the fuckin' door."_

 _Wordlessly, the mouse scurried inside. He peered at the badger and her bottle, considering climbing up her arm to the well-cushioned chair before thinking better of it. Instead, he perched himself on a worn stool off to the side._

" _You said you would tell me a story, miss Bella."_

" _Did I really- god damn it." She sighed in frustration, putting the bottle down. "Alright, kid, here's your story."_

 _She paused. "Once upon a time, in a land- scratch that, it was this land- look, it was your ancestors, the peaceful beasts of Mossflower, here. Okay, so you hear that? Open your ears. That's freedom. Or a screaming bald eagle bump-firing an AR-15, same difference. Anyway, a long time ago- not that long ago, actually- there was no freedom. Only dark. And sadness. The woodlanders were oppressed brutally under the Brit- I mean, under the harsh rule of Verdauga Greeneyes._

" _Now, you've probably heard of some nasty motherfuckers. Cluny the Scourge. Charles Manson. Mark David Chapman. Lee Harvey Oswald- god, what's with shooters and middle names, right? Anyway, this guy, he's as bad as Hitler. And his daughter, whoa, total psycho._

" _So you're probably asking, well, what happened? How did we get all these freedoms we now enjoy? Well, a mouse happened. A mouse like you. His name is one we all know by heart: Martin The Warrior."_

 _The mouse bounced up and down on his paws, excited and waiting for more._

 _Bella raised an eyebrow. "What, that's not enough for you?"_

 _The mouse looked at her expectantly._

 _Bella sighed. "Jesus Christ on a pikestaff, don't tell me you want the whole fucking story."_

 _The mouse nodded rapidly._

 _Bella took another swig from her bottle before setting it aside. "Alright, fine. Here's the story. Let's start from the beginning, then…"_

 **XCVG/Chris7221 Presents**

 **FIGHT FOR FREEDOM**

 **(10th Anniversary Edition)**

It was cold, grey, and lifeless. The gently rolling hills were once beautiful, covered in rich green grass. The grass had long since been stripped away, leaving only rapidly eroding dirt behind. Choking ash covered the hills and also burned-out skeletons of trees that could no longer survive. It was a land utterly devoid of life, with even the hardiest vegetation long gone.

The same ash and dust that coated everything blotted out the sun, letting only a grey half-light illuminate the stark landscape. Occasionally, rain clouds would form, but they were worse than the parching drought. The rain was lethal, slowly withering away anything that it touched. The very waters of life that allowed the region to prosper were destroying it.

Heading north, the land began to flatten out, revealing traces of what used to be farms. Husks of barns and farmhouses dotted the landscape. They were filthy, decaying shells, with nobody inhabiting them in a very long time. The fields were as badly damaged as the rest of the landscape- only plains of dust now.

A river snaked through the area, dividing the fields from the city beyond. The water level was very low, and it was filthy, poisonous and unusable by anything. A single stone bridge spanned the gap, heavily eroded over the years and caked with filth, but structurally sound.

Beyond that, what was once a thriving city stood in the distance. Once upon a time, skyscapers stood tall above the horizon. Now only the lowermost sections remained, everything above reduced to piles of weathered rubble. Most of the smaller buildings had fared better, but anything made primarily of wood was long gone. Like everything surrounding it, the city was cold, grey, and lifeless.

"Wow, thank god we don't live there, huh?" Ben Stickle remarked to his family, crumpling up the postcard and tossing it into the fire blazing in the hearth. "I mean, yeah, taxes, but at least we don't live in a nuclear wasteland. We even have a halfway stable government."

His wife, the Goodwife Stickle, sighed. His children snuggled down into their blanket, spines visible through the fabric.

"Come on, it's not that-" Ben was interrupted by a sharp rapping on the door. He laughed heartily. "It's probably the tax collectors."

"Ben, Ben, yo, homie," a voice accented in the charming rustic molespeech called from the other side. "It's your bro, Urthclaw! Open up already! I'm freezin' my fuckin' balls off out here!"

Ben's paw hovered against the door handle. He sighed before turning it and letting the mole in.

"Earthclaw."

"Benjamin." The mole trudged his way over to the fire, rubbing his claws together in the heat. "Came by to warn you. The fuzz are out in full force tonight. They out to shoot some niggas. You got a bolt-hole, now's the time."

Ben crossed his arms. "Unlike you, I am a productive, contributing member of society. I pay my taxes, I obey the law. I have nothing to fear."

"I'm just sayin-"

"Is this a racial thing?" the Goodwife Stickle asked.

"You shut up and get in the kitchen, woman!" Ben snapped. "Sometimes I wonder why I married you. Only four children, god! What are you even good for?"

"I am a modern woman!" Goody shouted back. "My life does not revolve around cooking meals and making children. I am an independent member of society who chooses to-"

"Hey, hey," Urthclaw interrupted. "You got problems with your ho, maybe you need counseling or some shit. Ain't my business. Look, I'm just saying, they're gunnin' for us moles, they're gonna come for you next. No one left to speak for you and all that shit."

Ben let out a deep sigh and shook his head. "We'll never make it north of the border, not in the middle of winter with four young ones. Especially not with those, well, you know, queue-jumpers."

The mole opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by another sharp rapping on the door.

"WHAT IS-" Ben began to shout. Once he saw who stood on the other side, he stopped immediately, subconsciously smoothing his shirt with one paw. "Erm, my apologies. Good evening, gentlemen. What can I do you for?"

A ferret and a stoat wearing the uniforms of Verdauga's army waited in the doorway. The ferret appeared to take the lead, straightening up and asking, "Just a routine community patrol, making sure the neighbourhood is safe. May we come in?"

Ben smiled pleasantly. "Sure, go ahead. I've got nothing to hide."

They marched inside, the ferret taking the lead. He looked around, eyes landing on the mole in their midst. "We've had reports of a disturbance from this area-"

"I DIE FREE!" Urthclaw shouted, grabbing a kitchen knife and plunging it into the ferret's throat. He gurgled and grabbed at his throat, dropping his spear as blood gushed from the wound.

"Earthclaw!" Ben shouted, rooted in place by shock.

The stoat dropped his spear, drawing a dagger and moving into a crouching combat stance. Urthclaw mirrored the movement, picking up a burning stick from the fire and waving it in the stoat's face. Suddenly, he threw it, kicking out the stoat's legs from under him as he attempted to dodge the embers. The stick landed on the drapes, which quickly caught and ignited the dry paneling behind.

"We gotta run!" Goody shouted. Ben, for once, didn't argue, grabbing two of his children and bolting for the door.

As they bolted out into the cold, the mole and the stoat continued their deadly dance. The stoat slashed at Urthclaw, who leaped back into a pile of pots and pans. He grabbed one and swung, but the stoat dodged at the last minute and it slammed into his shoulder instead of his head. He bolted forward, grabbing the mole and sliding his head along the counter toward a cauldron at the end. Urthclaw twisted his body and kicked, sending the stoat flying upward. He grabbed an icepick and swing upwards, catching the stoat in the chest. As the vermin clawed at his deadly wound, he made his exit, joining the Stickle clan outside.

Goody shrieked in despair as the flames engulfed their home, the sturdy timbers turning to charred cinders before her eyes. The children watched with curiosity, unable to understand what had happened or its implications.

Ben turned to his guilty-faced companion, rage burning in his eyes. "Earthclaw, you… you… you… mole!"

* * *

"Wow, I am glad I was not part of that," a young mouse with dark eyes remarked, observing the fire from the distance. He took a deep breath and stood up, dusting himself off. "Alright, you got this. You're Martin- no, not just Martin. You're Martin the Warrior. Martin the Motherfucking Warrior! Raaaaagh!"

The skinny mouse charged forward with reckless abandon, rusty sword in hand. His target was a pair of rats with spears, busy chatting to each other. Easy prey for a warrior like him. He turned the sword around in his hand and went in for the kill, swinging hard.

And missed. He didn't get a chance to recover, the end of a spear slamming into his stomach and knocking the wind out of him. Before he knew it, he was on the ground with his sword kicked away and paws bound by rope.

"Who are you guys?" Martin asked, equal parts shocked and amazed. Whoever these guards were, they must have been the cream of the crop, the tip of the spear, tier one elites.

"Customs and immigration," the rat snapped. "We're gonna haul you in, and we're gonna deport your ass."

Martin groaned, struggling uselessly against his bonds. "Fuck my life."

* * *

Lord Verdauga Greeneyes coughed roughly, rolling over in his four-poster bed. Across from him, his two children sat, one concerned and one uncaring. An old fox- Fortunata, if he recalled correctly- knelt next to his bed, fretting over a pile of herbs. By the door stood Ashleg, an old disfigured pine marten who looked on impassively.

"Please, father, you must take your medicine," Gingivere urged, standing up and crossing the room. "The healer is only trying to make you well again, and if you resist she cannot be of any help."

Tsarmina didn't even look up from the phone in her hands, continuing to click away on its virtual keyboard as she carried on three conversations at once. "If dad doesn't want to take his medicine, he's an adult and that's fine. Yes, use the extra poison, he's a cat."

"Poison?" Gingivere asked.

"Sorry, wrong conversation, I'm texting Witch Doctor over there," Tsarmina excused, pointing to Fortunata with one claw.

A rat appeared briefly in the doorway, whispering something to Ashleg. The old marten raised his head as far as his crooked back would allow and announced, "My Lord, the guard just brought in a prisoner. Would you like them to be brought in?"

The ruling wildcat growled. "I would want to see them, why?"

He had no good answer for that. "Authorial fiat?"

Verdauga sighed raggedly. "Bring him in, then."

Ashleg whistled, and two rats brought in a tightly bound mouse, tossing him roughly to the floor.

The room quieted down to an eerie silence as both parties sized each other up. Finally, the mouse broke it by asking excitedly, "Is this your place? Wow, it's really nice!"

Verdauga nodded from his bed. "It is. Welcome to Kotir."

Martin's eyes lit up. "Kotor? Man, I loved that game! Some people say Baldur's Gate or Neverwinter Nights, but-"

"Not Kot _o_ r, Kot _i_ r!" Tsarmina snapped. "God, what is _wrong_ with you people?"

"It's one of those words that sounds the same," Martin snapped back. "Uh, what do you call it?"

"A homophone?" Gingivere suggested.

The mouse recoiled in shock. "Oh, come on, one of my best mates is gay!"

"Young traveller," Verdauga orated, cutting off their conversation. "It is against the laws of Kotir to carry arms or trespass upon this domain. What say you to these charges?"

"I didn't know." It came out more as a question than a statement. Seeing nothing but disapproving looks, he changed his argument. "Um, I was just following orders."

"And so said Göring, Bormann, and Keitel," Verdauga replied ruefully. "You are not by chance a rocket scientist, are you?"

"Uh, no."

"Then I am afraid you must be tried for your crimes."

"Are we talking show trial or proper due process?" Martin asked between bites of candy.

"It's a- How did you slip your bonds?" Gingivere asked. Along with the other royalty and guards, he watched flabbergasted as the mouse munched snacks from their king's side table.

Martin shrugged. "Iunno. They weren't very tight."

"Arrest that mouse!" Tsarmina shrieked.

"I'm already under arrest- oh shit!" Martin dodged to the side as two of the guards rushed at him with swords drawn. He tripped over Fortunata, landing on Gingivere and knocking him off balance. The cat windmilled his arms as he tried in vain to not fall over, knocking the sword out of one of the guards' paws and slamming it into his father's chest and falling onto the handle, driving it in deeper.

The room once again dropped into shocked silence, which Martin again broke. "Did I just commit accidental regicide?"

"Gingivere! It was Gingivere! Murder, murder!" Tsarmina shouted hysterically.

"What? It was an accident!" Gingivere objected.

"The king is dead!" Fortunata wailed. "Prince Gingivere has killed his father."

"No, like, I'm serious, I might have just committed accidental regicide," Martin repeated. "It was- and I'd really like to stress this- an accident, but it was me."

"You!" Tsarmina shouted furiously, pointing an accusatory finger at the mouse. "You are a co-conspirator. You will rot in my dungeons for the rest of your short, miserable life!"

As soldiers surged into the room to make the arrests, Martin remarked nonchalantly, "Well, I mean, it beats trying to find a place in Vancouver, right?"

* * *

Before the late king's body had even been removed, the majority of the Kotir castle guard- perhaps some 538 strong- had gathered in the castle's spacious main hall. At the front stood Tsarmina, looking wound up, Gingivere, looking nervous, and Ashleg, looking as unreadable as ever.

"My lady Tsarmina, would you like to address the creatures of Kotir?" the wrecked pine marten asked.

"Sure, I'll go first," Tsarmina agreed. She turned to face the eager crowd. "Things are bad. Our jobs are gone, rapists and murderers are coming over our borders, the king is dead. Let me tell you what we'll do. We're gonna build a wall, a great wall, it'll be magnificent. The best wall."

"It's not that simple," Gingivere interrupted. The crowd immediately turned away in disgust. "Right now we sit at a crossroads between the present and the future. The king is dead, and that is a tragedy of incredible proportions. But the world is changing, and it is time we change with it. It will be difficult, and not everyone will be happy with the change, but together we can move forward."

"Don't listen to him!" Tsarmina snapped. "He's weak. Oh, it will be difficult, we'll have to change some things. Let me tell you, I'm going to bring back the good times. I will make Kotir great again!"

"Make Kotir great again!" the crowd echoed. "Make Kotir great again!"

Tsarmina smirked and flashed a thumbs-up. "See? Get behind me and it'll be great. The best. We'll ban all mice, keep terrorists out. We need to, let me tell you, we need to protect this country. Strong on crime. We're gonna find that illegal email server, too."

"What emails? That investigation found nothing!" Gingivere narrowed his already narrow eyes. "You're all deplorables!"

The crowd gasped.

He apologized quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

"Sorry, I didn't mean that," his sister mocked. "Sad. He's crooked, you know. It's true, some very smart people told me. Is that really who you want in charge?"

"No!" the crowd started. "We choose Tsarmina! Make Kotir great again!"

"Lock him up!" Tsarmina ordered, pointing a claw at her brother.

* * *

"I'm gonna pop some tags, only got twenty dollars in my pocket…" Gonff the mousethief sang along, stolen iPod Classic in one paw and stolen Extra Old Bitto in the other. He pocketed the cheese and grabbed a stack of chocolate bars from a shelf in the walk-in refrigerator. "I-I-I'm hunting, looking for a come-up. This is fucking awesome!"

With a twirl, he slammed against the door handle and stepped out, only to come face-to-face with a weasel and a rat, both armed and looking none too pleased with his behaviour.

"Hiya, mateys. Just grabbing some stuff for the chef, you see," the mouse said with a broad smile and a little wave.

The weasel sighed. "Jesus, I thought there was a thief around. Listen, if I were you I'd quit the dancin' and lollygaggin'. Chef don't like that too much."

"Yeah, last time, I had to scrub pots till my paws bled." The rat paused, listening. "Is that Macklemore?"

Gonff sheepishly paused his music. "Maybe."

"Well, then." The weasel turned to his friend. "What do you say, Blacktooth, we lock him up downstairs a few days, let him rethink his musical life."

The rat cracked his knuckles. "That's a fine idea, Wrathclaw, a fine idea indeed."

* * *

"Hey, easy, I just got this shirt!" Gonff complained as the two vermin beasthandled him into a dank cell. His nostrils wrinkled at the acrid stench of marijuana.

"Should've thought of that before you chose that awful song!" Wrathclaw jeered, slamming the cell door shut. As an afterthought, he tossed the offending music player in after him. "See you in three days, you tone-deaf fool."

It took a moment for the stunned mousethief to realize he had a cellmate. He turned to his companion, a brown mouse looking like he'd run a serious gauntlet. What might have once been smooth fur was now mottled and dirty, and a scruffy beard had begun to erupt on his face.

Gonff recoiled at the sight. "What did you do, drop the soap?"

"I might have committed regicide," the haggard mouse answered. He quickly added, " _Accidental_ regicide. Really, at worst it's manslaughter. Criminal negligence causing death, even."

"Well, I suppose it could be worse. You could be a child killer, or a serial rapist," the mousethief commented lightly, examining his iPod. A worrying thought occurred to him. "You're not lying to me, are you?"

"No."

"Good."

After a pause, the other mouse asked, "What are you in here for?"

Gonff smiled slightly. "Crimes against music, apparently."

"Oh, where are my manners?" the other mouse chided himself. He extended a paw and cleared his throat. "I'm Martin. Martin the Warrior."

"Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves," he reciprocated with a flourish, fistbumping the warrior.

"That sounded better in your head, didn't it?" Martin asked after a moment of quiet.

"Yeah, yeah it did," Gonff answered with a small sigh. "I bet Martin The Warrior did, too, eh, matey?"

Martin chuckled ironically. "Speak for yourself."

"So… cellmates?"

"Cellmates."


	2. Riddles and Pills

Wow, tough crowd. To be honest, I'm not expecting a huge response to this fic. It's been years since Fight for Freedom and I doubt it was fondly remembered. I'm not sure how big the Redwall fandom is these days, and I doubt my style of humour is very appealing to it (or anyone at all… I'm weird). This fic really is one I'm writing for me.

 **Chapter 2: Riddles and Pills**

Skipper of Otters and Lady Amber the Squirrel were _not_ together.

Sure, they might have exchanged a kiss or ten, but they were both drunk at the time. They'd fooled around in a tent on patrol once, but who hadn't? And they'd done the deed in the closed behind Boar's old study, more than once in fact. No, their relationship was strictly professional, and they

They were definitely not together.

"I'll take right, you take left," Skipper whispered, motioning to the gathering of vermin.

Amber smirked, drawing a vicious curved blade from its sheath. "Just try to keep up."

Before she'd finished her boast, Skipper had bounded forward, unleashing a hail of stones from his sling. The flurry caught the beasts by surprise, downing several as they tried to reorganize to defend against what they thought was a sizable force of woodlanders. A rat in golden armor- an officer- began to shout orders before Amber's blade tore through his jugular and he choked on his own blood.

The duo continued in their deadly dance, synchronized by years of practice. Skipper stowed his sling and switched to a spiked club. He brained a rat, knocked a weasel's legs from under her, and whacked the breath out of an unfortunate stoat. Amber hacked a ferret's arm clean off before stabbing the stoat in the back, then whirled around, drew a second blade and used both to flay open another ferret's chest.

If they had paused to examine the pressed metal tags around each of the guards' necks, they would have noted that one of them was Guardsman Second Class Blacktooth Ziemann, whose next of kin was his sister as the rest of his family had been killed during the rebellion. Another one of them was Guardsman Second Class Cyril Wrathclaw, whose officer candidacy was marked with a punched diamond in blatant disregard of regulations.

But they hadn't paused, and they hadn't noticed, instead ruthlessly cutting down the vermin without pause until they were all dead. They stood back to back, surveying the bloodied bodies around them.

"So…" Skipper asked, awkwardly rubbing his arm.

Amber stole a glance to her side, then tackled Skipper into the bushes.

* * *

"Well, this is a rare and unexpected pleasure, Abbess Germaine," Bella the badger greeted brightly, waving the much smaller mouse into her ancestral home. "Come in, all of you, welcome to Brockhall!"

"It's all right, she usually doesn't bite," the Abbess called to her flock, descending down the broad hewn staircase into the depths of Brockhall. An ancient badger home, its crown jewel was the main hall, formed from the roots of the tree above. A wide hearth sat at one end, the embers of a fire glowing within. "There will be absolutely _no_ shitting on the carpet. I'm looking at you, Brother Ceery."

"I'm telling you, Abbess, it was the cocaine!" Ceery protested, throwing up his arms.

Abbess Germaine rolled her eyes as she took a seat beside Bella by the fire. "Sure, Ceery, that's why Sister Thesia could snort twice as much and keep control over her bowels."

"So, what news of Loamhedge?" Bella asked, steering the conversation back to a relevant topic.

The graying abbess shook her head, a tear dropping onto her whiskers.

"I'm sorry. What happened?"

"A great sickness. It started simple, with fever and sore throat like the flu. But then it would turn to vomiting and diarrhea, bleeding from the inside out until there was nothing left. It was terrible. It killed everyone, young and old… it was horrifying to watch. Sometimes I hoped it would take me too. Instead I took who was left and went north," the Abbess explained, staring into her paws. She looked up and smiled grimly. "I also feel _really_ shitty for punching that Syrian refugee in the face now."

"I remember that," Bella observed. "Bad karma, certainly. But it was fucking hilarious at the time."

"Better times," Germaine agreed with a grim nod. "How fucked up is Mossflower these days?"

The badger replied. "Pretty fucked up. As you may remember, my father Boar the Fighter once ruled here. He got bored of that pretty quick, went for cigarettes one day and never came back. My mate, Barkstripe, he ruled for a while, and it was good. Then those fucking rats and weasels and other _vermin_ started showing up. Next thing you know, we get in a fight, Barkstripe is dead, Verdauga's in charge and _we're_ the second-class citizens."

"If we could only go back, eh? Same shit, different day," Germaine tutted. "I assume you have an elaborate spread for us?"

"I was baking a batch of chestnut bread. It'll be ready soon. I'll make some celery and fennel stew with hazelnut dumplings and get a cheese up from the storeroom." The old friends shared a laugh. Bella reached under her chair and pulled out a tall amber bottle, tossing it to the Abbess. "This one's the good stuff."

The mouse wasted no time, twisting off the top and taking a deep swig. She coughed once before smiling. "Damn! What the hell is this?"

"I call it near-ryncol," Bella explained, taking the bottle back and draining it halfway. "Five parts Everclear, five parts moonshine, one part Windex for color and one part Nuka-Cola for that extra kick."

"I think that's engine cleaner, Bella," Germaine laughed. She reached into her bag and began rummaging around. "I had to leave our holy book behind to bring this, but it was _so_ worth it."

"What holy book is it, anyway?" Bella asked. "Personally, I don't care, but I know some people have been wondering this for a while."

"Honestly, it's been so long I'm not even sure what religion we're supposed to be anymore. Ah! Found it!" Triumphantly, the graying mouse displayed in both hands what had to be the fattest joint Bella had ever seen. It looked absurd in the mouse's paws, being almost the size of Bella's arm. It was wrapped in golden paper that shimmered in the torchlight of Brockhall. The familiar smell of weed filled the room, and she could already tell it would be as potent as it was smooth.

The badger lady offered her lighter. "Totally worth. Let's get fucked up."

* * *

Twelve paces one way. Twelve the other. It had been days, for sure, with only ditch water and moldy bread, and he was getting reckless. Blacktooth and Wrathclaw clearly had thrown him in as a joke. Had they forgotten? Had they realized who he was? If this went on much longer, he'd have to break out the big guns.

Gonff kicked the wall, huffed, and collapsed to the ground. He glanced over at his companion, and at that moment, noticed something odd. "Matey, what's up with your sword?"

"Huh?" Martin asked, looking up from the circles he was tracing on the floor. "Oh! It was given to me by my father."

He shook his head. "No, I mean, why is it broke?"

The warrior took a deep breath before reciting, "Tsarmina, in her great rage, snapped it. She said it would be a reminder of her power over me... yeah. Something like that."

"That's some tall tale." Gonff called him on his blatant lie. "I saw it in once piece when I got thrown in here, for sure."

"Well, you're… bad!" Martin stammered. "Look, I thought if I could jimmy the lock just the right way, I could pop it right open."

"Oh, so _that's_ what that snapping noise was!" Gonff said, relieved. "I thought you were like-"

"Come on, boundaries!" the warrior snapped, wincing. "We're two dudes stuck in a cell, that's just weird."

"You know what, matey, you're right," he agreed in reply. "How about we slip out of here, hit the town and grab some rum and wenches."

Martin laughed. "You really are a pirate, aren't you?"

"Got a dozen letters last month. Hoodwinked 'em, though, switched ISPs right under their noses," Gonff confirmed. He reached into his tunic and pulled out a credit card. "I'll have us out of here in no time at all."

* * *

The squirrel cast an inquisitive stare toward the two new arrivals, suspicion deep in her amber eyes. This was not what she had wanted to be dragged out of bed for, especially since it hardly added up. It seemed… too clean. Too easy. She couldn't believe it.

Lady Amber sighed. "So, you opened the cell door with the credit card trick, knocked out the guards, climbed out a window by corroding the iron bars with salsa, and then crossed three hundred yards of open field covered by snipers before swimming four miles up the River Moss?"

"That's how it happened," Martin replied. Beside him, Gonff nodded.

She raised an eyebrow, no small feat for a squirrel. "And all that happened offscreen?"

"I swear by my father's sails, aye," Gonff assured.

"Offscreen."

Martin scratched his ear, confused, but nodded anyway. "Uh, yeah."

"We're one chapter in to what's supposed to be a triumphant return, a dramatic rework, and the author is already getting _super_ lazy," Lady Amber expounded. "That doesn't really bode well for this fic, does it?"

"You're breaking the fourth wall, marm," Skipper pointed out unhelpfully.

She threw her arms up in the air. "I know, that only proves my point!"

Bella quietly raised a hand. The room began to quiet down, settling down into absolute silence with the only noise the crackling of the fire. The badger lady drew in a deep breath, and the room waited on her words.

"I am still _really fucking high_."

With that out of the way, she stood up and crossed the room, her reddened eyes meeting Martin's clear ones. A grim smirk crossed her face.

He gulped, leaning back as far from the badger as possible. Considering the difference in height, it wasn't very far at all.

"As soon as I saw you, I knew you were a warrior, from the bright robe, flashy eyes, and massively bright sword," the badger began. "Tell me, Martin The Warrior, from where do you come?"

Resisting the urge to make the obvious dirty joke, Martin instead answered with a rhetorical question. "Have you heard of the Legend of Luke?"

Skipper of Otters piped up, "Yeah, he's this chosen one who started as a moisture farmer, became a Jedi and saved the galaxy from Darth Vader. But- everyone's seen Empire Strikes Back, right?" He received a chorus of agreement and a few nods from the others in the room. "Okay, it turns out Darth Vader is his father, Anakin Skywalker."

"Not that Legend of Luke- okay, I'm from the North, let's just leave it at that," Martin half-answered.

"Oil crash hit you hard?" Skipper asked.

Bella ignored the remarks. "It has been a long time since a true warrior has stood among us in Mossflower. For one such as yourself, I have a task. One that no one in this room could undertake. None but you."

"Is it buying groceries?" the mouse asked. He had an inkling of where this was going. "Because if it is, I'm not your mouse. I always pay too much and half the stuff I buy isn't even the right stuff. So, not a good idea."

"I need you to journey to Salamandastron and bring back my father, Boar The Fighter," Bella stated. "It is an ancient badger fortress, somewhere to the west. All male badgers make the journey at some point in their lives, but few return. The location is lost and the path fraught with danger. Only a true warrior such as yourself could succeed in this quest."

Martin waffled. "I don't know, I mean, I am a warrior, yes, but this really seems like an internal issue that you should sort out amongst yourselves. It's your land, your father, the cats are bad, sure, but the quarrel is between you and him. I just don't want to intrude."

Lady Amber and Skipper of Otters shared a confounded look oozing with sexual tension.

"Come on, matey, greatest warrior in the world, right?" Gonff prodded with a mischievous smirk, loud enough for everyone to hear. "A great warrior would never refuse a quest like this."

"You're our last, best, hope, Martin," Abbess Germaine added, no-so-stealthily taking a swig from her flask. "I know you won't let us down."

"Okay." Martin took a deep breath and drew himself to his full height. "Alright. I'll undertake the quest. On one condition."

"Name it," Bella answered, her tone making it clear she'd grant just about anything.

"Gonff comes with me."

* * *

Back in Kotir, Fortunata slept peacefully. She dreamt of grassy fields, of a glowing sun and of intelligent caterpillars subjugated under her thumb. They gathered in clumps and bowed down, laying down leaves and nuts as offerings. They were meagre, but she accepted them graciously, for the star-lord Xeno would-

A loud rapping on the wooden door of her chambers shocked her awake, the details of the dream dissipating rapidly. The vixen wrapped her pillow around her ears and shouted, "Go away, I need my beauty sleep!"

"Open up, Fortie, 'tis Cludd, guard cap'n," the voice of a weasel shouted back. "Look, I know you ain't gonna talk to me, ever since Tailhook, but the Queen's orders."

The fox groaned, then reluctantly threw her covers off and hopped out of bed. She groped in the dim light for her robe and managed to get it on after only two tries.

"Hurry up!"

"This better be important," Fortunata hissed, her words spitting venom as she threw open the door.

"The Gloomer," Cludd stated, gulping in fear at the enraged fox. "Queen wants it to the River Moss by dawnbreak."

"You've got to be kidding me," she snapped. "That thing isn't even an animal- it's like a fucking hellspawn or a creature of Grimm or something."

The weasel shrugged apologetically. "Queen's orders."

"May God have mercy on our souls," Fortunata breathed. "Let's just get this over with."

They proceeded silently down a spiral staircase, picking up another pair of guards before continuing down another straight flight, then opening a wooden hatch and climbing down a narrow set of steps into a dark space that smelled of mold and refuse. Cludd clicked on a flashlight, revealing a large cavern with a still lake in the middle. A rusty chain attached to a sturdy post lead down into the filthy water.

"I'm not shaking that chain," Fortunata snapped in response to Cludd shooting her an expectant look. "Send someone expendable."

"Brogg, shake the chain," the guard captain ordered.

The rat took one step forward and stopped. "Sir, I have kids-"

"You'll go down as a hero," Cludd interrupted, voice hard but breaking. "Your family, we'll take care of 'em. Do your duty, mate."

The soldier hesitated, then drew himself to full height and saluted. "Aye, sir. It has been an honor."

Fortunata whispered, "Godspeed, Brogg."

Brogg marched forward, then knelt down and shook the chain, giving it three great heaves that sent waves roiling through the murky waters.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then a great roar, guttural and grating, echoed from beneath the waves. Bubbles shot upward as a black shape rose to the surface of the water.

"Back! Spears up!" Cludd shouted. Scratt raised his spear like his captain, but Brogg stood motionless, paralyzed by terror.

The black shape broached the surface, water cascading off the black, leather-like skin. A pair of sightless eyes streaked with blood red were visible, along with a scarred snout and a paw with foot-long, razor-like claws. It turned to stare at them, then abruptly rolled onto its back and let itself be carried to the shore.

Fortunata breathed, "What the…"

Cludd waited a moment before stepping forward, spear in hand. Gingerly, he poked the creature with the very tip of his weapon. "Huh. It ain't movin'."

"It's not moving?"

"I think it's dead." Cludd prodded the lump again with his spear. There was no response. "Yup, it's dead."

All Fortunata could manage was a dejected, "Huh." She turned to Cludd. "Do you think it has anything to do with the spent fuel rods we've been dumping down here?"

The guard captain shrugged. "Dunno, I ain't one of those science-people eggheads. Just 'ope the Queen don't skin us alive."

"Oh, no, don't worry, I'll just pin it on Gingivere and that should take care of that." Fortunata assured. She took one last look at the festering creature, turned, and marched back up the stairs.

* * *

"You buddy fucker!" Gonff screamed, jamming an accusatory finger into the other mouse's chest. " _Only if Gonff comes with me_. What the shit? I can't believe you'd throw me under the bus like that!"

"You're the one who threw _me_ under the bus, Gonff," Martin shot back, pushing the paw away. "I don't want to go on some suicidal quest for a crazy old badger who's high as a fucking kite!"

"What happened to _Martin the Warrior_?" the mousethief snapped.

"I _am_ a warrior!" Martin roared. "I am the greatest warrior that has ever lived, because I don't intend to an hero myself on some bullshit dead-end sidequest."

"Oh, excuse me, a _bullshit dead-end sidequest_ , I'm so sorry," Gonff snapped sarcastically. "Look around, _Martin The Warrior_. Mossflower's gone to hell and back. We need Boar back!"

"Why? Because you can't deal with a cat in the castle?" Martin replied aggressively. "That just trigger you so bad you need a safe space? You scream about freedom, but we both know what this is about? Got news, Gonff, you can never go back to the good old days when cats knew their place!"

Gonff shoved Martin, eyes burning with anger. "Oh, you're going to play the poorly-disguised political allegory card? Well, two can play at that game! You're not a warrior, _matey_. Just a sad little NEET who can't accept the harsh truths of the world, that maybe we have to take responsibility for out own-"

"Oh, you fucking-" the warrior slammed his fist onto the desk in emphasis. With a loud clunk, a drawer popped out.

"Shit!" Gonff exclaimed, going from enraged to panicked in the space of a split second. "Put it back, put it back! We're not supposed to be here!"

"It was your idea!" Martin hissed back, picking up the drawer and attempting to shove it back in the hole. It refused to go back in. "Damn it!"

"No, you have to…" the mousethief began. He paused, catching a glimpse of something white and black in the drawer. "What's that?"

"Looks like, uh, seven constellations," the warrior replied, examining the paper. "Wait, there's writing underneath it!"

"What's it say?" Gonff asked excitedly, peering over the warrior's shoulder. All animosity had already been conveniently forgotten.

He shook his head. "I dunno, it's in Greek."

" _For you who seeks the place, if you are stupid and need a map, look for the family crest, more clues lie hidden there,_ " a booming voice recited. The two mice whipped around, coming face-to-face with Lady Bella. The badger smirked. "You've found the riddle. Unfortunately, that is only the first step."

"Above the fireplace," Martin answered immediately.

Gonff shook his head. "Never, matey, it won't be that simple. See, the whole thing is a puzzle. The words are metaphor, and the solution is never obvious. You've got to do mental gymnastics-"

"No, I'm pretty sure it's above the fireplace," Martin dismissed with a shake of his head.

The mousethief crossed his arms. "Even if it's literally behind a real crest, which I highly doubt, what makes you think it would be above the-"

He was cut off by a snap and a crunch, followed immediately by a stream of molespeech profanity. The trio raced out of the room and into the great hall, where they came upon a mole in front of the fireplace with a broken piece of wood in his hands. The crest above the hearth was conspicuously absent.

"What did you do now?" Bella asked the mole, voice almost resigned.

The mole tossed the chunk of wood aside. "I'm sorry, lady! It was just, off a bit, you know, tilted, so I climbed up there and tried to get it back into place and the fuckin' thing fell on me! You know, it was a white man carvin' anyway, we should put my bro Muhammad Ali-"

"Dinny, shut the fuck up," Gonff ordered, face firmly in palm.

"Wait!" Martin interrupted, examining the broken chunk of wood. He held up a bark scroll in one hand triumphantly. "This is it! The map to Salamandastron!"

Gonff snatched it out of his paws and scoffed. "That's a sushi menu."

The warrior reached over and roughly turned the scroll around.

"Oh, wow, it is a map!"

"Excuse me, I heard a noise, and I was wondering…" a sweet voice said quietly from the edge of the room. The male creatures in the room held their breath as a pretty mousemaid, with fine features and a flowing green dress, made her way into the room.

Gonff smiled charmingly and leaned against the wall, pose relaxed. "Gonff, prince of mousethieves, at your service. What be your name, miss?"

She laughed quietly, voice smooth as silk. "My name is Columbine."

"Like the shooting?"


	3. Warriors and Attacks

I seem to remember this going a lot faster last time. The words flow pretty well once I start writing them, but it's a struggle to put in the time while trying to do a million other things.

 **Chapter 3: Warriors and Attacks**

"Smooth, Martin. Smooth."

"Shut up. I know you were thinking it. I know we were all thinking it." Martin pulled the ice pack away from his face, revealing a black eye underneath. He winced, then turned the pack around and pressed it to his matted fur once again. "I mean, who names their daughter _Columbine_?"

"Someone'd had a kid before 1999?" Gonff suggested. He sighed. "Look, I'm happy to call ya my shipmate'n all, but I was gonna tap that. And if she thinks we're friends, that just ain't gonna happen. And man, matey, that be some great tail."

"We should probably think about the quest," Martin mentioned resignedly.

"Yeah, the great warrior quest you wanna go on so bad-like," Gonff agreed.

Martin sighed again. "Just between you and me, I don't. I really don't."

"What happened to risin' to the occasion?"

The warrior rolled his eyes. "I'd rather live."

"If we don't go…"

"Bella will kick us out. Yeah, I know, she read me the riot act."

"This whole thing is revenge for draggin' you into the quest, isn't it?" Gonff suggested after having a moment of realization. "Gotta hand it to ya matey, not a lotta mice'd take a fist to the face fer that."

Martin smiled sheepishly. "Actually, I didn't think of it, but now that you mention it, yeah, it's pretty sweet karma."

A dark snout poked into the broom closet. "Hey, if you two lovebirds are done fuckin', we should get going."

"We're not- wait, we?"

Dinny stepped into the room and explained, "Yeah, I pissed off the broad, so now I'ma roll with you guys. Dig it?" He laughed heartily. "Get it? Dig it, cuz I'm a mole? I just made that up, it's good, right?"

Martin rocked his paw back and forth and shrugged. "I mean, I'll take shitty puns over borderline-racist 1990s rapper speak mixed with a geriatric's attempt at the youngsters' vernacular."

"Great! It'll be a dope-ass road trip." Dinny clapped both of them on the shoulder, leaning uncomfortably between them. He looked at Gonff, then at Martin, and did a double take. "Warrior dude, what the fuck happened to your face?"

* * *

None dared to voice their concerns, but many doubted the wisdom of Tsarmina's plans. They had a secure position, plenty of food and ammunition, and a seat on the Security Council. It wasn't necessary of advisable to take a hundred warriors out to the forests of Mossflower to gather supplies. The woodlanders owned the forest and they knew it.

There was more to it than gathering supplies, of course. Tsarmina had her reasons. She needed a show of power, a dramatic action that would prove to those insolent woodlanders that yes, she was Queen of Kotir, daughter of Verdauga Greeneyes, technically elected and the rightful ruler of all of Mossflower.

The army didn't march so much as trudged, their morale sapped by both the perceived futility of their mission and the completely incoherent motivational speech their queen had given, where she'd railed against illegal immigrants and fake news for an hour. Still, they were professionals, and they would follow the orders given, no matter how easy and satisfying it would have been to frag the queen right then and there as she marched at the front of the column.

The woodlander's scouts had observed this action, reporting back without their foe ever realizing they'd been made. Immediately, Skipper of Otters and Lady Amber had thrown together an ambush. They had threescore fighters- thirty of the toughest otters and nimblest squirrels Mossflower had to offer.

Tsarmina's army began running into problems before they even encountered the woodlanders. Marching a well-drilled army into a forest and expecting them to maintain cohesion was an exercise in futility. It was not physically possible for the column to march through together, and they quickly broke up, with a few elements become completely separated. Tsarmina shouted at her officers, her officers shouted at their men, and their men bumbled about trying their best to get back into position.

Then the woodlanders attacked.

A flurry of swords came flying out of the trees, cutting down a dozen of Tsarmina's fighters. They replied with bows and Javelins, but the squirrels had already moved. A hail of stones from the otters' slings came flying in from one direction, arrows from the squirrels' bows the other. Screams of pain mixed with hurriedly shouted orders. Some of the latter were misinterpreted, and a trio of grenades sailed through the air, only to land back at the feet of other squads.

Tsarmina surveyed the chaos with barely controlled rage. Seeing motion in the treetops, she picked up a dropped Javelin and hurled it with all her considerable might. There was a satisfying thunk and the squirrel fell out of the tree. It was one of a vanishingly small number of minor victories. Her army was down to half strength, and for that they'd managed to take down maybe a handful of woodlanders.

Reluctantly, she ordered a retreat.

* * *

Ferdy and Coggs were two baby hedgehogs with delusions of grandeur. As any young woodlander would in such circumstances- though they were the only young woodlanders in the whole book- they fancied themselves to be warriors. Strong, powerful, ready to take on any vermin in their way.

The adults around them had encouraged this, Skipper of Otters in particular. At various times the two aspiring warriors had been tasked with important tasks such as guarding the larder and patrolling the halls of Brockhall. There was no shortage of praise for how brave and dedicated the little warriors were.

Which, in retrospect, had probably been a terrible mistake. It had gotten them into all sorts of trouble before.

This fateful afternoon, the two little hedgehogs were bored. In young ones such as them, there were no elaborate thought processes, just the insatiable pang of boredom and a desire to do something important. They donned their helmets (colanders), sheathed their swords (sticks), and set out hoping to find some badbeasts to kill.

They got their wish sooner than expected, running straight into the Kotir patrol that had just been devastated by Skipper and Amber's warriors. They were exhausted and demoralized, but also very, very angry, and the brutal battle commenced as soon as they sighted the young hedgehogs.

When the dust settled, a dozen vermin lay dying, and the two little hedgehogs literally in Tsarmina's enraged grasp.

"We are going to have some fun," the wildcat growled menacingly. As she glared at the terrified little ones, she felt something wet drip through her glove and onto her boots. "Annnnd... you just peed on me."

* * *

"So, how'd you break that sword, brotha?" Dinny asked as the trio strode down the oddly smooth path winding its way through the foothills of Mossflower. He licked his parched lips, quite an accomplishment considering molar anatomy.

"Tsarmina, the evil Queen of Kotir, snapped it in her great rage," Martin recited, clearly having practised this routine. "It was a symbolic action intended to break my spirit, but I, Martin The Warrior, remain steadfast in my resolve."

Gonff covered his mouth, trying mightily and failing epically at containing his amusement.

"Hell of a story," Dinny said, refusing to commit one way or another. "Man, I'm fuckin' thirsty. Which of you punk-ass niggas forgot to pack water?"

Gonff pointed at Martin. Martin pointed at Dinny.

"How fuckin' far is it to this cracker mountain, anyway?"

"This says about another thousand klicks," Martin replied, cupping a paw over his phone to shield the screen from sunlight. "Yup."

"Wait, what? How the fuck you know that?"

The warrior grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, well, I can't really read old badger maps, so I threw it away and I'm just using Google Maps now."

"I be a dead man," Gonff muttered.

They continued down the path in silence, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. After cresting _another_ hill and rounding _another_ curve, a glint on the side of the road caught their eye. The trio approached cautiously, wondering what it could be.

When they got closer, they could make out its shape- a backpack. Martin rushed forward before Gonff grabbed him and pulled him back.

"I reckon this either be the answer to our prayers, or a roadside bomb," Gonff stated with a shrug. "Fifty-fifty."

Dinny shook his head. "I ain't no bettin' mole, but I watched a brotha' die once. Let's skedaddle."

"Fuck that, roll the dice." Martin smirked, and before anyone could stop him, leapt for the pack.

"Wait, Martin, no-"

* * *

Tsarmina couldn't sleep. How could it have all gone so wrong? She was supposed to be bringing in the glory days, making Kotir great again. But things had only gotten worse. After they'd returned from the ill-fated patrol, the castle writhed with discontent, and the crushing failure weighed on her shoulders.

She paced back and forth, over and over again, her paws digging into the into the lush carpet. William Lind's _Victoria_ , her latest bedtime reading, sat abandoned on the nightstand. Her beloved Samsung Galaxy S3 was on the other side of the room, untouched since the day before. Her weapons and armor were carelessly dumped in a pile in the corner.

Suddenly, she collapsed to her knees, a yelp of pain escaping her lips. Though the carpet beneath her was perfectly dry and at some level she knew that, she couldn't help but feel it growing damp. A feeling of dread and terror lanced through her mind.

"So wet! So wet!" She screamed, the idea of water pouring uncontrollable through the castle as physically painful as scalding hot metal on bare flash. It rose through the halls to soak her fur and weigh her down, each touch hot as fire. "Oh god, I'm so wet!"

Suddenly, Kotir was gone, and she saw a grassy field with fire behind her and a pale figure striding toward her. Whatever it was, it was death incarnate, and she felt the overwhelming urge to run away. Instead, she reached out for a weapon. "Give it to me! Give it to me!"

Someone gave her one, and she was standing face to face with the pale figure. They also had a sword in their hand, and swung first. She parried one blow, took a hit, and managed to get a glancing strike on her opponent. "No, no, yes!"

Suddenly, she was on the ground and the stranger was above her. They flipped up their visor, but she couldn't make out the face because it remained blurry. The blurry figure said something unintelligible about regicide, and plunged their sword down.

Tsarmina screamed, finding herself back in her room in Kotir. She panted hard, struggling to control her breathing as cold sweat cascaded down her fur. The Queen cradled her legs in fetal position, reduced to a terrified child. "Fuck… fuck!"

* * *

The mostly male staff, of course, had a much more lewd interpretation of their Queen's anguished groans, pained screeching, and cryptic exclamations. Word spread quickly, and a score and a half of degenerate beasts were soon gathered outside Tsarmina's chambers.

Fortunata took one peek at the "excited" guards in the hallway and recoiled in disgust. With a whooping, Lana Kane-esque "Noooope!" she turned and left.

* * *

Columbine glanced over her shoulder, seeing nothing but the peaceful forest behind her. Normally, that would be reassuring, but this time it only heightened her anxiety. The stillness, the silence of the forest, it had her on edge. Idly, she thumbed the pistol inside her waistband. The magazine was fully loaded, but she would only need one bullet- for herself.

If she got the chance.

This was it. This was the place. The mousemaid took a deep breath, then rapped on the trunk of the tree three times. She mouthed a silent prayer to whatever gods were watching, as if it would help. If things went well, maybe she'd make it back, physically if not mentally intact. If not… she shuddered at the thought of the gruesome ways she would probably die in.

"I am here," a deep voice boomed.

"I am Columbine, representing the Council of Resistance in Mossflower," she recited, failing to hide the fear in her voice. "We humbly request your services."

"For those…" the shape slowly emerged from the shadows "…you must pay a price."


	4. Birds and More Pills

I really wanted to make this a Christmas present but it just didn't happen. So, Merry Christmas, a day or two late depending on your time zone. I realize the title is somewhat of an artifact, but I'm not going to break from my plan of reusing the ones from the original Fight For Freedom.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Birds and More Pills**

"There she be, the girl who lived!" a voice called triumphantly as the heroine returned to the wooden caverns of Brockhall.

"Give me that!" Columbine snapped, though her voice rang hollow. Anything but triumphant, she tore the bottle from the otter's grasp and gulped down what was left.

"You want another?" Skipper asked half-sarcastically, holding out another bottle.

Columbine needed no second bidding. She untwisted the cap and drained the bottle in one long gulp. Eyes blank, she dropped into the nearest seat and let the empty bottle clang to the floor.

"I've looked into the heart of darkness," Columbine droned, staring straight ahead. "I never believed in true evil until today, but now I have seen it with my own eyes, and it's scarred my very soul."

The room fell silent, save for some awkward coughing and the clink of bottles.

"The stories, the legends, the truth is far worse. Never have a believed such a darkness would be possible," the mouse continued. "We tell ourselves this was necessary, but at what cost? I have left a part of myself behind, and perhaps we all have. We've made a deal with the devil himself, and I fear the consequences."

Skipper opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it. What could he say?

She looked up and whispered, "What have we done? What have we unleashed upon the world?"

* * *

"Hiiiighhhhway toooo the danger zone! Gonna take you riiiiight into the danger zoooonnee!"

Argulor rolled and banked as he sang, his nimble wings carrying him along the morning currents. A barrage of arrows zipped into the sky as he passed over Kotir. He laughed and belted out another bar of Kenny Loggins, rolling away and avoiding the onslaught easily.

He'd made the right choice coming back to Mossflower. The Harley-Davidson salesman had been convincing, but not convincing enough. No, the air was where he belonged, and on a day like today he felt half his actual age.

Old? Yes. Dead? Not yet.

The aging eagle closed his eyes, gliding through the air and letting it flow through his feathers. He'd passed Kotir, out of range of the vermin below. He would have to circle around and pass over it again to get home, but for now, there was nothing to worry about.

He briefly toyed with the idea of swooping down and grabbing one of the creatures. Once upon a time he would have done so without a second thought, but as much as he hated to admit it, the eagle had become cautious in his old age. The woodlanders would have been easier prey, but they were sickly sweet and he could no longer stomach them. No, the weasels, rats, and stoats of Kotir were a better meal. He knew there was a pine marten among them as well. Crippled and twisted, but still a rare delicacy that he would like to try some day. The ordinary creatures were hardly worth the effort anymore, but the pine marten- or that bitch Tsarmina- would be quite the prize.

Suddenly, his feathers went cold, a chill running down his spine. He didn't look, instead continuing to fly straight ahead, but he could feel a dark presence approaching. Argulor feared few things, but this was one of them. An unholy abomination, a black hole of pure darkness amongst a sea of good, evil, and everything in between.

That _thing_ did not belong in this world.

The darkness headed away from him, toward Kotir, and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was not his time. He uttered a silent prayer for whoever its victims were, then beat a hasty retreat south toward his home. All of the joy he had felt zipping through the air had drained from his bones, and now he just wanted to get to the relative safety of his nest as soon as possible.

* * *

It started as a tickle at the back of his neck, the tingly feeling of something being not quite right but being unable to place it. The feeling slowly built up to a looming dread, and somehow he became aware of a dark presence- empty, indescribable- approaching. He glanced behind him, but saw nothing, and the presence seemed to surround him, suffocating him in the tiny cell.

"Who is that?" the imprisoned wildcat squeaked out, his voice fearful and barely a whisper.

"Gingivere. Brother of Tsarmina," a deep, gravelly voice echoed, chilling the wildcat to his very core. He wanted nothing more than to run, run as far as he could, but found himself rooted to the spot. He could feel in his periphery the two baby hedgehogs cling tightly to his leg, but his body was icy with terror. "Not your father's killer, framed by she who truly is. A victim of circumstance."

"How- how do you know?" Gingivere asked timidly, icy tendrils ensnaring his soul.

The voice- otherworldly, gloomy, condescending- told him, "You fumble in ignorance, while we stand one with the universe. We simply _are_."

The wildcat gulped. His eyes darted back and forth, but he could see no intruder. The presence simply _was_. It was everywhere, and it was nowhere.

"You are hungry," the voice boomed. Somehow, it echoed around the entire cell and roared from within Gingivere's skull at the same time. "And you have the hogs."

"Yes," he confirmed, unsure of whether it was necessary or a good idea but feeling as if he had to say something. He breathed a sigh of relief as the dark presence retreated.

Its voice was quieter, more a slithering whisper than a booming echo. "We know all that we need. Our compact with the forest dwellers has been fulfilled."

The tendrils slowly slid away, and Gingivere sunk to his knees, dry heaving. The two hedgehogs shivered in fear as the emaciated wildcat retched and retched, unable to control his nausea but with nothing left to expel.

* * *

"Uh, guys? Do bags left on the side of the road normally beep?" Martin asked, turning over the bag in his hand. "It's beeping faster now, is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Dinny and Gonff shared a horrified look as they backed away. The mousethief said gently, "Martin, uh, matey, you might wan-"

"Fuckin' run, dawg!" Dinny shouted, breaking into a full sprint. His more nimble companion easily passed him at a light jog as they scrambled for cover.

Martin ignored them, opening the bag instead. He pawed through the contents and frowned. "Aw… there's just wires and pipes in here."

"Martin, it's a bomb!" Gonff yelled from behind a large rock.

"Come on, guys, why would there be a bomb here?" the warrior asked rhetorically. He turned the bag upside down and shook it, scattering the very bomblike contents across the ground. He picked up a pair of metal pipes and held them up. "You guys are paranoid."

From behind the rock, Dinny muttered, "Martin, you are the dumbest motherfucker…"

"It's not a bomb, guys," Martin insisted with a smile, tossing the pipes over his shoulder. They sailed through the air, then exploded, sending the warrior mouse sprawling to the ground.

"You were saying?" his companions shouted in unison from behind the rock.

Ears ringing, he couldn't hear and didn't respond, instead stumbling forward along the road in a winding fashion. Reluctantly, his travelling partners got out from behind the rock and followed. The warrior turned abruptly, half-walking and half-falling down a hill through a thorn bush.

"Ow, ow, that hurts more than the explosion!" Martin shouted, still half-deaf and now sprawled across the grassy ground.

"By Satan's whiskers…" Gonff breathed, surveying the scene in front of them. They were in a clearing where the trees thinned into a grassy field. Ahead of them was a small lake filled with crystal clear water. "Martin, matey, you are the luckiest mouse alive!"

Still deaf, the warrior exclaimed proudly, "Hey, look, water!"

Dinny helped him to his feet and clapped him on the back. "Yeah, sure is."

Martin grinned, then stepped gingerly forward toward the lake. He knelt down by the edge of the shimmering surface, then broke it with a paw, scooping up some water and taking an experimental drink. He stood up again, shot his friends another glance, and undid his fly.

Gonff smacked his paw into his forehead as he watched the warrior relieve himself into the pure waters of the lake.

Dinny just shook his head. "Yup. I think he's retarded."

* * *

"The devil fulfilled his end of the deal," the mole, Billum, stated, dropping down into a chair at the end of the table. He'd stumbled into Brockhall twenty minutes earlier with a flask in his hand, and had put it down only once, to refill it. His beady eyes were bloodshot and distant. He took a swig from shaking claws before continuing. "Our baby hedgehogs are prisoners in Kotir."

"We've got to get them back!" Bella roared, slamming a fist down on the table so hard that it bounced off its legs for a moment before settling back down.

Abbess Germaine wrapped a hand around her old friend's broad arm. "We must not be too hasty about this. The decisions we make could determine the fate of Mossflower."

"Seascum! They've got us by the balls. We're goodbeasts, and seein' those little ones in their hands just sets me off like a firecracker! We can't abide them in their hands, and we've got to rescue them cuz of our conscience. And they know all that! This is a trap we can't not fall into!" Skipper snapped semi-coherently. He coughed awkwardly. "If you pardon my French, marm."

"We're only on chapter 4, so obviously this isn't the final assault we're planning," Lady Amber pointed out. She looked around at the serious faces of the war council. "Right?"

"I think we _are_ planning the final assault," Skipper of Otters answered slowly, chewing his lip, "But maybe we won't be carryin' it out just yet."

"Before we commit to anything, do we have a plan?" Abbess Germaine asked everyone.

"All-out assault," the squirrel leader stated flatly. "We gather everyone we can, rush the front gates. Smash them down, kill the defenders, take the castle before they know what hit them. It'll be like Poland in 1939."

"With all due respect, marm, given the disparity in forces I reckon it'd be more like Russia in 1941," Skipper objected. "We'd be drawn out into a long slog against superior forces we can't win against, if they don't just kill us outside the gates."

She glared at the otter who definitely wasn't her boyfriend. "And I suppose you have a better plan?"

He smiled smugly. "'Course I do. We've still got that long hose in the basement. Me an' my boys will drag it out and use it to flood Kotir out. I ran the calcumalations, and the numbers all line up good-like."

The entire room looked at him, speechless. Finally, Abbess Germaine broke the silence. "That's the stupidest fucking idea I've ever heard."

Foremole nodded agreement. "Yeah, I mean, nothing against ya', Skip, but you can barely do 'rithmetic. The kinda complex calculus you'd need to calculate that, I just ain't seein' it."

The otter balled a fist and glared threateningly at the mole. "I'll show you calculus, mole-"

Lady Amber moved to stop him. "Calm down, Skipper, it's not worth a fight!"

"Oh, he insulted me to my face, it is certain worth a fight, marm-"

Bella held up a hand for silence, time and three hits from an elaborate bong having calmed her down somewhat. "For the moment, we do nothing. Tsarmina expects us to act. We will not play into her hands. Instead, we will gather intelligence, concentrate our forces, and, if necessary, stall."

"I don't like this, marm," Skipper of Otters immediately dissented.

Lady Amber shot him a look. "Is there anything you _do_ like?"


	5. Cannons and Cats

Yeah, it's been a while since the last one. Busy doesn't even begin to describe how I've been.

The chapter title does work this time, and yes, that line really was in the book (you'll know it when you see it).

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Cannons and Cats**

"Sorry, you want to do WHAT?" Dinny snapped, shock etched across his mole face.

"Yeah, matey, I think I mighta' heard you wrong," Gonff accorded, exaggeratedly cleaning out an ear with his claw, "because that's fucking crazy."

From his perch beside the cannon, Martin scoffed. "Come on, guys, the circus does it all the time!"

"Yeah, thing is, the circus uses a special cannon sized for people, and really it's more like a catapult using compressed air or springs," Dinny explained. He pointed at the rusty cannon with an accusatory claw. "That fuckin' thing is an anti-tank gun from the Second World War. It'll either blow your dumb ass up or won't go off at all."

"Can we bet on that?" Gonff asked, reaching for his wallet.

"Trust me, guys, it'll work," the warrior mouse pleaded.

The mousethief sighed and decided to try a different tactic. He wrapped one arm around Martin and told him, "Look, I thought you didn't want to go on this quest. Pick your fights, don't be the hero, live. Yet here we be, standing in front of a seventy-year old piece of unexploded ordinance. And all the sudden-like, you're sayin' something so daft we ought to start callin' you Murtaugh."

"It's Riggs," Dinny shouted.

"Who's Riggs?"

"Martin Riggs is the crazy one. Roger Murtaugh is the sane one," he corrected. "Besides, the pun only works with Riggs. You should know that, man."

"It's perfectly safe!" Martin The Warrior insisted, pushing his friend's arm off. "I saw it on TV like a billion times and it always worked."

Gonff threw his paws up into the air. "Alrighty then. You wanna kill yourself, I'm not gonna stop ya. We're just gonna use that fortuitously placed vaulting pole."

Martin folded his arms. "Fine. You want to stay on this side of the ditch, you try that."

"Fine." The mousethief turned and picked up the pole, balancing it in his paws. He took a deep breath, then broke into a sprint, slamming the pole into the ground and leaping into the air. He flew in a wide arc, landing on the other side and elegantly sticking his landing.

"Alright, toss it over," Dinny called. Gonff obliged, and he deftly caught the pole. Flexible yet stout, it was the perfect device for vaulting, and the mole figured it could easily take his not inconsiderable weight. He raised the pole and dashed toward the ditch, ramming it home and jumping with all his might. He clung to the pole as it arced over, rising into the air quickly before starting to slow down.

"Dinny!" Gonff called in alarm. The pole was straightening out, its momentum all but gone.

Martin didn't notice. He was busy playing with the ancient cannon. The breech was rusted shut, but he'd peered down the barrel and seen the projectile already loaded. When he pulled the firing cord, nothing happened, and he leaned against it, disappointed.

Five seconds later, the cannon fired. A boom echoed across the valley, colossal tongues of flame jetting from the front of the barrel and blowing away the grass and dirt below. Unsecured, the cannon flew backward as the shell flew forward, with the slight incline and smashed muzzle device pushing the barrel down until it caught the loamy ground. The rear of the cannon flipped upward, tossing the hapless mouse head-over-heels across the three-foot chasm.

The projectile slammed into the base of the vaulting pole, smashing through it without exploding but imparting enough energy to send the pole and its passenger flying sideways toward the other side of the ditch. The shell continued on its merry way, embedding itself in a hill five hundred meters away.

It took a moment for the travelers to recover from the shock and awe. Dinny lay sprawled on the ground, sideways, with the pole in pieces beside him. Martin was a dozen paces away, covered in dirt and inches away from being impaled by a tree stump.

The warrior mouse grinned from ear to ear as he jumped to his feet. "Damn, that was awesome! See, I told you. Way better than the circus!"

"Martin," Dinny growled, a lethal edge to his voice, "if we get out of this alive, I'm gonna fucking kill you."

* * *

"Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our brother departed," the chaplain recited solemnly, standing over a small wooden box as eight stoic soldiers held a flag taut above it. "And we commit his body to the earth; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto his glorious body; according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself. Amen."

"Amen," Tsarmina replied numbly, along with the rest of the gathered mourners. How could it have gone so wrong? Why had her companion of seven years been taken by ketoacidosis when she was fighting a war? Did her crusade come at a great personal cost, close to home-

"Firing party, present arms!" a hoarse stoat, in charge of the ceremony, ordered. In response, five soldiers- one rat, one ferret, one stoat, one weasel, and one fox- raised their rifles to the vertical.

"Ready! Aim! Fire!" On his command, the firing party shouldered their weapons, pointing them up into the air at an angle before firing off a volley of blank rounds.

"Ready! Aim! Fire!" Expertly practiced, the firing party dropped racked their charging handles in unison, raised their weapons again, and fired together in a split second.

"Ready! Aim! Fire!" Once again, the shots rang out in unison, echoing around Kotir's walls and the valley beyond.

The firing party dropped their weapons back to vertical, and silently the other soldiers began carefully folding the flag as an aged fox played a warbling tune on his bugle.

She'd seen this before. It was seven times. The first for life. The second for Kotir. The third for peace, the fourth for war. The fifth for remembrance, the sixth for comrades who carried on. And the seventh for hope. Once it was done, a neat triangular packaged, one of the guard held it out for her.

She was queen. She had to show sensitivity, but not weakness. Face set, she took the flag, tucked it under her shoulder then stepped back and nodded. Voice firm, but quiet, she ordered, "Dismissed."

"So, what do we do now, boss?" Ashleg asked quietly as the soldiers began returning to their duties. Raindrops began falling from the sky, causing him to glance up briefly before turning an expectant look to his queen.

 _How ironic_ , Tsarmina thought to herself. Mister Fluffywumps- damn how she missed that little ball of fur!- had _hated_ water. She wiped the mixture of tears and water away with the back of a paw, fire now burning in her eyes.

"We're gonna kill some fuckin' woodlanders."

* * *

"Wooh, she's pissed," Lady Amber observed wryly, peering through her binoculars. "I count five hundred… five hundred twenty-eight. That's the entire guard."

"You sure it's exactly five hundred twenty eight?" Skipper prodded from beside her. "I reckon it's a little hard to count that many, that's all."

"Everyone is there," Amber excused. "I have a photographic memory. Only guy I don't see is the cook. We could walk right in the front door."

"Ever seen Under Siege? How 'bout The Hunt For Red October?" the otter argued. "Besides, how are we gonna get in? The gate's locked up tight'r than the governor's daughter."

The squirrel furrowed her brow before recovering. She motioned with the binoculars. "Oh, I don't know… how about with the keys she left in the lock?"

"No way. You're pulling my tail." He reached over and grabbed the binoculars, peering through them with one eye. "No _fucking_ way!"

"Not pulling your tail." She winked. "But maybe if you're a good captain I _will_ pull your… tail."

* * *

"Wow, this place is dank as fuck!" Columbine remarked as she descended down the stone steps into the basements of Kotir, torch in hand.

From his position beside and behind her, Skipper shrugged his shoulders. "It's not exactly my style, but I suppose for what it is, they've done a decent job."

"No, I mean it's _dank_ as fuck." Columbine wiped a paw on the rocks, which came away soaked. She shook it off. "Ew! It must be like two hundred percent humidity down here."

"I'm a sea creature, marm. I hardly feel it."

"Lucky." The stairs came to an end at a worn wooden door, which she kicked straight off its hinges. A blast of cold, smelly air assaulted their nostrils as they stepped through, accompanied by a metallic taste in their mouths as they descended into what could only be described as an underground cavern.

"Would that be a lake?" Skipper asked, pointing. Indeed, the chamber was dominated by a pool of glowing blue water, with the decaying corpse of some giant sea creature laying half-in at its edge.

"That would be a lake," the mousemaid agreed. She turned her torch, shining its beam across the far wall. "I'm not an engineer, but it looks like the water comes in through that hole and just drains into the ground."

"Hmm." He took the torch and gradually edged his way around the lake, climbing up into the edge of the tunnel and pointing the torch up. "By Satan's whiskers!"

"What, what is it?"

"This tunnel leads up right by the river," he explained. "Now, I'm just a simple otter who dropped out of engineering school, but I'd reckon with another tunnel and a dam across the river, we could flood this place right out."

"Never build in a floodplain?"

He laughed heartily. "Never build in a floodplain! Come on, let's go tell the others…" He trailed off, oddly.

"What's bugging you, Skipper?" Columbine prodded as they climbed back up the steps. "Is it just this mean place unfit for woodlander habitation getting you down?"

"No, not that, it's not bad, actually." He cleared his throat. "Just one thing, marm. 'bout _you_ , if you don't mind."

"Yeah, sure, what is it?"

"Why'd your parents name you after a shooting?"

* * *

As the three travelers continued eastward, their surroundings began to change. The woodlands gave way to scrub, with greenery clustered around a river that snaked diagonally across their path. The mountains once barely visible in the distance now dominated the skyline, slate-coloured slabs of rock tipped with glowing snowy peaks.

Martin could tell that they were making progress. Not because of the change of surroundings, no, he was as oblivious to that as a mouse could be. But Google Maps had never led him wrong (well, not _never_ , he grudgingly admitted to himself), and Google Maps was saying that they were making progress.

Eagerly enjoying the afternoon sun, his fishing line trailing in the water behind him, Gonff began to sing.

" _O the day is fair and blue,_

 _The mountains lie ahead._

 _Companions good and true,_

 _Our enemies are dead._

 _I m longing for the day,_

 _O for that happy time,_

 _When Ill return to say,_

 _Sweet Columbine, you're mine."_

Dinny choked back a bout of laughter. "Did you write that yourself?"

"I did indeed, good sir," the mousethief replied, a bounce in his step.

"What, are you gonna show up to her room with a guitar?"

He smirked. "I hadn't thought of that, but I very well might!"

"You're gonna get rejected," Dinny said bluntly. "Hard."

Gonff slowed, wrapping his arms around the mole. "Now, now, Dinny, my good friend, don't be such a Debbie Downer!"

The mole squirmed out of his grip, glaring daggers. "You ever touch me like that again, I will cut off your dick."

Before the mousethief could respond, Martin interrupted, "Hey, guys, I think this might be a good place to cross."

Gonff sighed, bracing himself for another harebrained scheme. Looking over, he evaluated the crossing point. The banks had a moderate slope, and though the river was wide it was slow and shallow. Best of all, a rope stretched across, pinned securely at both ends. He blinked in surprise. "I… I actually don't disagree."

Dinny said nothing, simply hitching up his pack and climbing into the water. Gonff glanced at Martin, shrugged, then followed suit. The warrior brought up the rear, and paw-by-paw they made their way across, ending up quite a bit wetter but no worse for wear.

"Well, that was-"

"Good evening, gentlemen," a strange but pleasant voice interrupted. A green, slick gecko stepped out from behind a line of shrubs, blinking his large black eyes. "Would you like to save hundreds on insurance?"

"No," Gonff and Dinny said, glaring at the gecko.

Martin, instead, nodded eagerly. "Actually I would like to save on my insurance."

"No, he wouldn't," Gonff insisted, grabbing his friend and trying to drag him away.

"I really would!" the warrior argued, feet firmly planted. "Do you know what I spend on insurance, Gonff? I don't make a living by just grabbing everything that's not-"

"Hey, that was uncalled for!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He threw his arms in the air. "But, if I can save some money, I would really like to do it. I'm not made of it, you know."

"Martin, he's a scammer," Dinny hissed.

"Excuse me, I resent that accusation," the gecko interrupted, crossing his arms. "I am in fact underwritten by a Nigerian prince."

"See, I mean, he insures a prince in Nigeria! That's practically royalty!"

The gecko raised a finger. "Actually, underwritten means- no, never mind."

"Whoooaaahhh, gerroutofit!" a deep voice shouted from the shrubland. A split second later, a small ferocious shrew burst forth, wielding a club almost as big as he was. With a mighty swing, he brought it down on the gecko's head, sending him crashing to the ground with blood pouring out of his bulging eye sockets.

"God damn it!" Martin screamed, angrily kicking the ground. "I was going to save hundreds on insurance!"

Dinny half-agreed, "I mean, I hate scammers as much as the next mole, but, I mean, _damn_."

"Name's Log-a-log," the shrew introduced, oblivious to their discomfort. "You can call me Loggy. I'm a ferry shrew, like all my family-"

"-with a tragic background, tied into our own story of enslavement and liberation, et cetera, et cetera," Martin finished, irritated. "Look, can you take us to Salamandastron or not?"

Gonff shook his head. "Come on, matey, I highly doubt this random bum of a shrew is going to shortcut half our quest just like that."

"Salamandastron, the badger mountain?" Loggy asked.

"Is there another one?"

"Well, there's a- no, nevermind." Loggy chewed his lip. "Yeah, Salamandastron, badger mountain, I can take you there, no problem."

* * *

"…we may have a final solution to the problem of Kotir."

The goodbeasts assembled in the great hall stood speechless, mouths agape at the proclamation. "Uh…"

Realizing what she just said, the Abbess cringed. "Oh, god, did I really just paraphrase-"

"Yuuup," Bella called from the back of the room, reaching for her flask.

Columbine snapped straight and shot one paw into the air. "Heil Germaine!"

The abbess sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh shut up, miss 'I killed a bunch of kids on Hitler's birthday'."

"Don't you think maybe making those jokes a week after a school shooting is, uh, iunno, crass?"

"Do you think making Hitler jokes when there are Nazis marching in the streets isn't?" she fired back.

"Excuse me, actually, Abbess Germaine is not in the wrong," a nerdy-looking mouse with a nasaly voice that literally appeared out of nowhere announced. He waved the leather-bound tome in his hands. "According to the Book of Canon, ofcourse."

"Man, I thought they totally forgot about that," Lady Amber whispered to Skipper, receiving a nod in reply.

The mouse cleared his throat and continued, "According to the Book of Canon, Abbess Germaine states, and I quote, 'if we put your discovery together with Old Dinny's plan, we may have a final solution to the problem of Kotir' in chapter 31."

"That's actually in the book?" Germaine asked quietly.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Wow, so a book with overtly racist themes has suspiciously Hitleresque phrasing in it," she said, biting back a wry chuckle. "Now, we _are_ the good guys, right? Not the designated good guys, the actual good guys."

Of course, she received an enthusiastic chorus of agreement.

* * *

This wasn't how Martin imagined it.

Cold spray slapped the warrior in the face as he leaned out over the edge of Loggy's boat. His stomach did twists and turns, and despite feeling like he'd dumped it all out half an hour ago, another burst of vomit exploded from his mouth and into the water.

He thought there's be much more sharing of exaggerated tales of adventure and much less puking his guts out. Suddenly, mid-thought, he found himself lifted and half-dragged, half-carried across the deck.

"What the hell are you doing?" Martin snapped.

"The seas are flat calm and you're making a mess of yourself," Loggy stated. His eye twitched. "We're tying you to the mast."

"What- why- mmmmfff!" Martin began to protest, cut off when someone tied a bag around his head. He felt himself lifted up into the air, slammed against something cold, and bound around his body. His stomach did another backflip and another mass of vomit came up with enough force to explode the bag and spray the other passengers with slime.

Loggy, Dinny and Gonff exchanged panicked glances. "Now what do we do?"


	6. Escapes and Explosives

I was hoping to get this out earlier, but Real Life has been kicking my ass. I've pushed some things to the next chapter, but that's mostly for length and because it would be pretty thin otherwise. Anyway, onward we go!

 **Chapter 6: Escapes and Explosives**

"This is a bad idea."

"Nah, it'll be fine."

The ferret stopped in his tracks and glared at his travelling companion. "They're going to see me, and they're going to kill me."

Skipper sighed and patted him on the shoulder. "It'll be fine, trust me. They're goodbeasts all, and they'll be onboard once they hear our plan. Now let's get a move on."

Reluctantly, the ferret picked up his pace, following the otter as he ducked under the roots of a tree and threw open a thick wooden door. He followed Skipper down a set of stairs, half a pace behind and on the left side, and emerged into a large cavern-like room full of woodlanders.

A cacophony of unsheathing swords, cocking firearms, drawing bows, and charging lasers echoed through the room. All eyes were on the intruder, all weapons trained, nervous goodbeasts ready to kill at the slightest provocation.

"Whoa, whoa, mates, not so fast now!" Skipper shouted, putting himself between the creature and everyone else. "This is Mask, my brother-"

"Bullshit!"

"-my brother's nephew's cousin's former shipmate." Skipper finished. He proclaimed, "He's a master of disguises, he's on our side, and we have a plan to get our hedgehogs out of Kotir!"

* * *

"How in the name of Satan's _butthole_ did we end up here?!" Gonff shouted, his voice echoing painfully around the four travellers.

"I dunno, I'm still trying to figure out what you guys did on the boat," Martin muttered in half-reply. He rubbed the large bump on his forehead, wincing at the touch. Dizzily, he tried to stumble to his feet, only to think better of it halfway through and crash back to the ground.

"I don't got the answer to either question, but I don't think I want them!" Dinny fumed. "This is all screwed up! And where the _fuck_ is our illustrious master and commander?"

"Over here," a voice echoed from the other side of the cave. It was dark in the cavern, and though they could sort of make out the outlines of each other as well as the bats surrounding them and the _thing_ blocking the exit, they couldn't tell Loggy apart from the rocks around him.

"Damn, man!" Dinny ranted. He swung his stubby arms for emphasis, though "Trapped in a cave that smells like a cesspool in an abbatoir, being literally shit on by bats, with a fuckin' own sitting on the only exit and probably shitting on us too! Just damn, man!"

"Calm down, matey, we'll find a way out of here," Gonff soothed. There was a sound of shuffling, followed by a curse. "Ugh! I think that was a bat."

"Hang on guys, I got this," Martin called. He dug in his pack for several seconds before finding what he was looking for. A moment later, a bright red light cut through the darkness, and the travellers shielded their eyes from the sudden illumination. Dozens of bats scurried away in a cacophony of leathery wings.

"Be careful, matey, lest you blind us all!" Gonff shouted. "Why do you have a road flare?"

Martin smirked. "I'm always prepared."

"You signed up for AAA and got the roadside emergency kit, didn't you?" Dinny prodded. "Bet you signed up _for_ the kit."

"Yeah, and then I realized I didn't have a car," the warrior admitted. He lit another flare and tossed it across the cave, where it landed next to a very high pile of wooden crates.

"Okay, what do we have to work with?" Loggy asked rhetorically. He was on the other side of the cave, close to the thrown flare. Squinting his eyes against the bright glare, he surveyed their surroundings. "We're in a cave full of bats with an owl over the only entrance- we already knew that. I don't see another way in or out."

"What about those crates?" Martin asked, pointing to the large collection stacked neatly against the wall of the cave. "Maybe there's something in there we can use?"

The ferry shrew shook his head. "I doubt it, those are just old mining explosives."

Alarmed, Gonff questioned, "We're not going to blow up, now, are we?"

"No, they're perfectly safe, as long as there's nothing to light them…" Loggy trailed off, his eyes wandering over to the flare. It was so bright he couldn't make anything out, but rapidly shortening cord spitting fire and smoke a few feet away told him all he needed to know. "Uh-oh."

"What do you mean, uh-oh?" Martin asked, confused. "What's that hissing sound?"

"So, uh, Gonff, you like jokes," Loggy said awkwardly. "Have you heard the one about the EOD tech?"

* * *

"And that's my plan!" Skipper exclaimed, arms wide and bright grin on his face.

"Uh, Skip?" Mask pointed out. "All you did is stand there for three hours and then say 'and that's my plan.'"

He ignored the objection and loudly called, "Any questions?"

"Yeah, I probably should have asked this earlier, but, um…" The nervous squirrel shifted, sniffed, and cleared her throat. "Why didn't we rescue the hedgehogs when we were _in the castle_?"

"That's actually a really good question," Columbine concurred. She pinched her nose. "Okay, so things have been pretty much happening the same way as last time, and this is one of them. I'm just wondering if this is from that or if it goes all the way back to the original book."

"Uh, beg pardon, marm, but what would you be meaning 'bout the last time 'n the original book?" Skipper of Otters asked, confused.

"I dunno." She shrugged. "Sometimes I have these moments of déjà vu. Is that not normal?"

"No," everyone else in the room said in unison.

The nervous squirrel from before raised her hand. "I hear non-diegetic music sometimes."

Columbine shot her a look. "That's crazy."

The squirrel rolled her eyes. "Says the mouse who thinks all this has happened before."

Bella cleared her throat, ending the discussion. "We go ahead with Skipper's plan. The rescue happens tonight."

* * *

Above the ground, gentle green hills rolled up and down as far as the eye could see. One in particular had an uneven slope and a grove of balsam trees just under its peak- the peak where a certain owl had made its nest above a barely noticeable hole in the soil. It was covered in a rich blanket of grass, often a favouring grazing spot but not that day. A few small animals had made the hill their home, finding the trees to provide excellent shade in the midsummer heat and the owl to be a mostly decent neighbour who kept his grass mowed and didn't dump garbage in the alleyway.

All in all, it was a pleasant segment of land in a region rich with life and-

 **KABOOM!**

The sound could be not only heard but felt for miles around, reverberating around the hilly terrain, blowing out eardrums and shattering windows. With a hundred tons of dynamite going off underneath it, the hill simply ceased to exist. A cloud of loam, vegetation, and the remains of a few small unfortunate animals erupted from where the hill had stood a split second earlier, shooting up a thousand feet into the air and raining down for a mile around.

Somehow, the four travellers had managed to survive, crawling out of the newly formed crater with nothing worse than shaken composures and ringing eardrums. It was miraculous, especially considering that the bats and owl had been literally vaporized.

"Matey, what is _with_ you and explosions?" Gonff asked snippily. Strictly speaking, maybe it wasn't Martin's fault, but the warrior had a propensity for disaster that the mousethief was starting to get just a little bit tired of.

"Mawp, mawp," Martin vocalized, trying to clear his ears. "What?"

"He said, why'd you blow the fuckin' hill up?" Dinny clarified loudly. He winced in pain, still hearing mostly ringing and strongly suspecting he had at least one burst eardrum.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" the warrior mouse said defensively. He paused, then added, "It worked, though!"

Loggy shook his head. He was his own brand of crazy and knew it, but was starting to suspect these new friends were in another league entirely. "Yeah, somehow. We could have just as easily blown ourselves to pieces."

Before anyone could respond, they were interrupted by a loud crack followed by a roaring rumble. Looking up, they saw a highly anachronistic jet fighter zooming above in full afterburner, its smooth grey wings gleaming in the sunlight.

The river shrew pointed at the aircraft, then scratched his brow, confused. "Aren't you going to question why there's a fighter jet-"

"Nope, at this point, it's not even in the top ten of weird shit," Dinny dismissed, shaking his head.

Loggy then turned to the whimsical mousethief, who offered an apologetic shrug. "Eh."

* * *

Later that night, on the other side of the… is Mossflower a continent? Nah, it's not that big. On the other side of the state, a lone vixen trudged through the forest. She was dressed in the rough robes of travelling healer, occasionally pausing to examine a plant or dig up a root.

"Lost something?" a rough voice drawled. A stout fox trudged out of the underbrush, clad in a worn duster with worn armor underneath.

"Yeah, I, uh, couldn't find my iPod this morning and this is the last place I had it," the vixen answered. "It's a 160GB Classic so it would be really expensive to replace… sorry, I'm Besomtail. You are?"

"Patchcoat," the battered fox growled. He pulled out a revolver, twirled it, and slid it back into its holster. "But most folks, they call me the Courier."

"I'll, uh, stick with Patchcoat," Besomtail said. She squinted her eyes suspiciously. "You don't look like a courier at all, much less _the_ Courier."

"Well, I tried," Patchcoat admitted, his voice a lot clearer and an octave higher than it had been moments before. "Truth be told, I'm just a traveller headin' through these parts."

"No way, me too!" the vixen said shrilly, "Where are you headed?"

"Uh… Corneria?" Patchcoat answered, voice unsure.

"Oh my gosh, so am I!" the vixen stated excitedly, turning and starting to head west down a rough trail. "We should totally travel together!"

"Say, isn't Corneria the other way?" he pointed out, jabbing his thumb roughly east.

"I come this way all the time," she dismissed, already heading down the path. "Come on, it's a shortcut, let's go!"

The other fox shrugged, spun his trenchcoat, and followed.

Of course, neither fox was who they said they were. In fact, Besomtail was the vile Fortunata and Patchcoat was not a fox at all, but the otter Mask!

"Yeah, no shit," Mask/Patchcoat muttered. He chuckled. "Corneria. That's the best you could do?"

* * *

"This is not Corneria."

Mask had never actually been to Kotir proper before, having previously only ventured around its periphery. The very sight of it gave him chills. A stout curtain wall roughly hexagonal with an arrowhead-shaped turret at each corner surrounded the complex, which was dominated by a broad six-story keep built of red standstone. Flags and banners waved in the night winds, and serious-looking guards patrolled the walls carrying all manner of weapons.

"Well, duh, we've only been walking for an hour. This is just a rest stop," Besomtail/Fortunata chided as they approached the towering main gate. Two guards were posted outside, and one turned toward them while his partner clicked away on her phone.

"Halt!" the guard snapped, lowering his spear to block their path. He interrogated, "Do you have a geiger counter?"

"Mine's in the shop," the vixen answered smoothly. As soon as she did so, the guard drew himself ramrod straight and snapped off a perfect salute as the gates creaked open.

"Why did the guard just salute you?" Mask/Patchcoat questioned.

"It's a sign of respect," she explained. "They're very disciplined guards."

They continued through the courtyard toward the keep. It was dark and eerily quiet, with only whispered conversations, the clank of guards' weapons, and an occasional cigarette lighter. A training area was visible, but it wasn't being used. A line of graves ringed the periphery of the keep on their right, some of them having flowers or other items atop them. Their view was partly obscured by an ancient anti-air cannon, but it looked like there were at least a hundred small markers.

"A little mean for a rest stop," the fox in the trenchcoat commented as they entered the keep. "Guess home is home, though. It's pretty big, I'll give 'em that."

"Well, we try our best," his companion replied with a slight smile.

"We?" Mask/Patchcoat stammered with exaggerated surprise. "This is _your_ castle?"

"Yeah, I lied, I'm not actually a traveller," the vixen stated with a smirk. "You fell in hook, line, and sinker. Welcome to Kotir. Sorry."

The grizzled fox shook his head ruefully. "You know, I'm sorry, too."

"About what?" the vixen asked, confused. Then she looked down and realized there was a long, slender blade sticking out of her abdomen. As blood rushed out of the wound and she collapsed to the ground, she managed to mutter, "And on my nice dress, too."

* * *

Sitting atop the main gatehouse on the inner crenellations were an unlikely duo. One half was a young ferret, energetic despite the late hour and decked out in all the issued gear despite how ridiculous it looked on her slim frame. The other half was an old weasel with a scar running down his face, carrying only a few ammo pouches and a canteen full of something that was definitely not water.

Steelflower and Baneblade, opposites in more ways than one. Their first patrol together had been tense, with Steelflower none too impressed with the backwards old weasel and Baneblade none too impressed with the soft young ferret. Somehow, they had managed to become civil associates, perhaps even friends.

And they'd both seen the entire exchange. The ferret frowned as the travellers disappeared into the keep. "Did that fox seem a little suspicious?"

Baneblade shrugged and took a gulp from his canteen. "Yeah, maybe."

"Aren't we supposed to report suspicious activity?" Steelflower asked. "If you see something, say something, right?"

"If you wanna fill in the forms, be my guest," the old weasel remarked wryly. "Probably just get a form letter back anyway. I don't think a living being even reads those. You'd be wasting your time. Hell, they might even slap you with discrimination or some bullshit."

"Yeah, you're probably right," the young ferret agreed. She stood up and slung her weapon "We should get moving before-"

Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the northern section of the keep, deafening alarms began to blare, and all hell broke loose.


	7. The Long Patrol

Still more or less maintaining the same events from the original in each chapter. I'm finding that the pacing inevitably gets thrown out of whack because some parts were really glossed over originally while others don't need to be extended that much. I had to cut two sections from this chapter and significantly shorten a third to keep it from going absurdly over length.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: The Long Patrol**

The four weary travellers did not delay, for they knew their destination was within reach. They made record time to Salamandastron's entrance, located on the south slope of the mountain. A half-circle tunnel extended from the rock face, and a pair of hares patrolled in front of it. It was hardly the most inviting architecture, but reaching it filled the travellers with a sense of pride and accomplishment that money could never buy.

"Stop!" one of the hare guards shouted, sighting them. Both of them raised their weapons. "Identify yourselves or you will be fired upon!"

"Um, hi," Gonff introduced with a little wave, stopping in his tracks.

"I am Martin The Warrior!" bellowed Martin The Warrior, though it came out a few octaves too high to truly be intimidating. He nonetheless stepped forward and puffed out his chest, which also had an overall effect more comical than anything.

"We're travellers from Mossflower," Dinny yelled, talking over him.

"I have arrived to challenge Boar The Fighter in single combat, with the fate of all of Mossflower in the balance!"

"I don't know him," the mousethief said, jabbing a thumb in his direction. He made a circle with his paw around himself, Dinny, and Loggy. " _We_ don't know him."

"These are my comrades in arms, who will be fighting by my side on the glorious field of-" The inglorious warrior was unceremoniously cut off by a whack to the head from Loggy's stout club.

He sighed. "Can you just let us in? It's getting cold out."

"Come in peace to the mountain of fire lizards!" a booming voice echoed from within the tunnel. Martin looked around, confused, Dinny and Gonff both recoiled in shock, and Loggy tripped on his feet and fell over.

"What the hell was that?" Dinny snapped.

"Oh, _shit_ , is this thing on?" the voice boomed again. There was a pause. "It is? Damn it! Which one of you dipshits left it on?"

Martin and Gonff shared a very confused glance.

An extremely loud throat-clearing rumbled from the tunnel. "Fair travellers, welcome to Salamandastron. Corporal Trubbs, bring them in and give them the tour."

* * *

"That was seriously lame," Martin opined.

"Yeah, I'm not feeling it," Gonff agreed. "I mean, the mountain's nice and all, what with the sub pen and the airstrip and all that, but the tour, not great."

Dinny nodded agreement. "Nice place, hell yeah, but the tour _was_ fucking sad. My aunt's slideshow was better, and I fell asleep in the middle of that."

"Yeah, when you said 'virtual tour', I thought it would like a Rift or something," Loggy pointed out, stepping away from the computer console. "This is QuickTime VR. This was outdated in 2007, and Apple pulled the plug on it eight years ago. And- oh look, you have an outdated version of QuickTime running on Windows XP, that's a security breach waiting to happen. Look, a Google Cardboard app made in Unity by a script kiddie would be an upgrade over this."

Everyone looked at him, surprised.

"What, because I live on a boat and look like a hobo, you assume I don't understand technology?" Loggy folded his arms and glared daggers. "I have a comp-sci degree from Stanford. I'm a Debian archive maintainer, and one of my papers is cited in the Spectre vulnearability analysis."

"You just made that all up," Dinny snapped.

"Those may be real words, matey, but you totally just threw them together," Gonff argued.

"You're on DeviantArt?" Martin asked, confused.

Loggy opened his mouth to protest, then slammed it shut, flipped them the bird, and stormed out.

"The tour really was lousy, though," the mousethief repeated.

"Sorry, budget cuts, you see," Trubbs told them, voice not all that apologetic. "Just a bit of trouble with the procurement project. Whenever we buy anything, it costs ten times as much and takes twice as long to deliver."

"That is… not a good excuse, matey," Gonff pointed out.

"It is what it is." He shrugged. "Could be worse, could be India!"

"Fuck you, Trubbs!" a slightly accented voice bellowed from outside the room.

"Piss off, go back to your designated shitting street!" the hare shot back. He explained to the guests, "That was Specialist Patel, we go way back. Did two tours in Iraq together. He's all right, that chap."

Dinny rubbed his forehead, the constant barrage of anachronisms and subversions finally getting to him. "I'm so confused right now."

Trubbs paid him no heed. He clapped his paws together. "Anyway, I'm to set you up with guest rooms, and you can retire for the night. Except you, Martin The Warrior. Boar The Fighter called for you by name."

"Hey, that's who I was looking for!" Martin exclaimed, pumping his fist. Then a thought dawned on him. "Wait, am I in trouble?"

"Oooh…" Trubbs sucked in his breath. "Last time Lord Boar asked for me by name, I got right chewed-out, busted down to Lance, too."

"Uh-oh."

* * *

"Wow," Martin breathed, his earlier trepidation forgotten.

He'd been lead down a series of winding tunnels by a hare who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, then left in front of a set of thick oak doors and told not to go through them. Of course, he disregarded those instructions as soon as his chaperone left, barging past them and slightly bruising his shoulder in the process.

The room on the other side was cavernous, a huge mountain hall. An aged stone forge sat at the center with a towering stone chimney extending upwards to the roof barely visible above. It still glowed with heat, and the anvil and tools around it looked well-worn. All manner of weapons hung nearby, with crates and boxes of scrap metal, parts, and junk scattered around the room.

"This is the heart of Salamandastron," A muscular badger, pure silver with a creamy white stripe on either side of his forehead, emerged from the shadows. "What do you think, Martin?"

"It's pretty cool," he answered immediately, then asked, "Am I in trouble?"

The badger lord laughed and shook his head. "No, you're not in trouble. I simply felt we should have a talk, warrior to warrior."

"I see. Is this where Salamandastron's weapons are forged?" the warrior mouse queried as he wandered further into the chamber, an air of reverence in his voice.

He shook his head. "No, not really, this is mostly for tourists. But I did not summon you to sell you overpriced knickknacks."

"Then why did you call me down here?" Martin asked, reverence replaced with snippiness.

Boar trudged over to the still-glowing forge, allowing the light to ominously illuminate his face. "Some nights ago, one of our patrols saw a star fall from the sky. They found the spot where it landed and brought it back here-"

Even Martin was skeptical. "Wait, a fallen _star_?"

"Well, no, it was a meteor, but 'fallen star' sounds way more mythical and badass, don't you think?" the badger lord asked rhetorically. He quickly continued, "Our internet stopped working last night, and I got really bored so I dug out the meteor and made it into a sword. Every time I brought the hammer down I recited the name of a great warrior. On the last stroke, I spoke yours, Martin The Warrior."

"That's a little weird," Martin The Warrior chided, visibly disturbed.

"I _may_ have been just a little bit high at the time," he admitted. "Just on weed, though. And I took a hit of acid after dinner, but that was already worn off. Mostly. Oh, and I took an Ambien, but that doesn't count since my doctor prescribed it."

"Okay…"

"That's not the weird part, though," the badger lord continued. "You see, Martin, until this very afternoon, I had never heard your name."

Martin's face fell, "Damn, really?"

"You seem more disappointed than shocked," he said questioningly, stating the obvious.

"I mean, I'm Martin The Warrior! I kick ass and take names all across the land!" the mouse boasted. "I figured you'd know who I was."

Boar glared at him, now quite irritated. "Do you want the sword or not?"

Martin sighed. "I would very much like the sword."

The badger reached behind him and pulled out a barkcloth-covered package. With a flourish, he stripped off the covering, revealing a dull grey, crudely hammered blade twisted by nearly a quarter-turn from hilt to tip. The tip was badly chipped, the hilt had bits of sticker on it that proclaimed it was once part of a Honda Civic, and the grip looks suspiciously like an old broom. He flipped it once in the air- or tried to, it was more of a flop- then held it out for the mouse to take.

"Ooh, a sword!" Martin breathed, taking the offered weapon in his paws and giving it an experimental swing. "A _space_ sword!"

Boar held up a paw and clarified, "Yes, but the meteor was a carbonaceous chondrite, so it's basically a lump of gravel glued into the shape-"

"I'm a Jedi!" Martin shouted excitedly, waving the sword around and making lightsaber noises.

The badger reinforced, "I'm just saying you should temper your expectations-"

The warrior mouse continued to ignore him and kept swinging around the sword. "Shwoom! Shwoom! Bzzzt! Sorry, what were we talking about?"

"One more thing, Martin," Boar informed him. He sighed. Perhaps he'd been expecting too much, but- no. "Perhaps against my better judgement, I must show you something very important. This is for our eyes alone, us two warriors."

"Is it Half-Life 3?" Martin asked enthusiastically.

"Certainly against my better judgement," the badger muttered to himself. He motioned for Martin to follow, heading for an elaborate bookshelf that seemed oddly out of place in the forge room. He counted four books from the left edge of the middle shelf, then pulled on it. There was a click, and the bookshelf slowly skidded to the side revealing a rocky passage behind.

The warrior mouse nearly dropped his newly acquired sword. "A secret lair? Awesome!"

"Do not make me regret this- actually, it's too late for that," Boar cautioned. He produced a torch, lighting up the passage, then headed down it and turned right, entering a narrow hall carved straight into the rock. One wall was covered in elaborate carvings, starting with a life-sized statue of a badger. He gently touched its face.

Martin whistled in appreciation. "Did you have that done? It's pretty good."

"This is my father, Old Lord Brocktree," he explained softly, ignoring his companion. "I went questing for Salamandastron, just as my father did, and his father, back as long as time can remember. He was still alive and well when I found this place, and we were happy together for many seasons. In the end, he was called to the gates of the Dark Forest. Tell me, Martin, do you smoke?"

"Uh, no? It's bad for you and I can't afford it."

He nodded slowly. "Good, good. Old Lord Brocktree won every battle against every enemy, except lung cancer. No creature could slay him, but ultimately it was a hidden enemy within that would fell him. It was pretty horrible to watch, actually."

His companion was confused. "Okay, so you have a statue of your dad. That's pretty cool, but what does this have to do with me?"

"Let's start at the beginning," Boar replied, tracing a series of badgers carved into the wall. "This is the legend of Salamandastron. Many badgers have come here, since we first emerged into the world. Only true warriors are recorded here. The likes of Urthnin the Chipper- hell of a name, huh?- Spearlady Gorse, Bluestripe the Wild, Old Lord Brocktree, and, yes, yours truly. There will be countless others, and perhaps it is already written, but I cannot read them."

He continued past the badgers and kept going, running his paw over a series of formless shapes about the same size as the intricate badgers. Reliefs of bloody combat, murals of victory and defeat, and strange symbols that seemed to dance before their eyes lined the wall. He kept moving past most of them, pausing briefly before a painting of Salamandastron belching fire.

"Who made these?" Martin asked.

Boar laughed. "Who knows? Before my father arrived, before I arrived, this was all already here."

"But someone had to have made it!" "It can't just exist, that's an ontological non-starter!"

"A wizard did it," he lied.

The mouse instantly accepted it. "Ah, okay."

"This is where you arrive. You and your friends, these little guys coming into the mountain. And you and your friends leaving it, with a sword in hand. The sword is symbolic, I think. You are renewed in purpose, fortified in resolve. You will prevail, free Mossflower, and usher in a new age, though at a terrible personal cost." Boar explained, stopping in front of another carving and tracing it with a claw. "And that's it. There's more to the wall, but it stops making sense. Many have tried. Most have gone insane. The legend of Salamandastron reveals what the legend of Salamandastron reveals."

Martin snapped his fingers with a sudden realization. "Oh, it's a pun! It's legendary, but it's also like the legend on a map."

"No."

"Oh. Is this the end?" Martin asked. He peered past the badger at the carvings further down, but they danced and shimmered, consisting of strange symbols, blurry shapes, and nothing recognizable.

The badger nodded.

"Why does it end here?"

"Many futures, some of which have come to pass, some of which have not. I've tried to avoid the worst ones," Boar mused, refusing to directly answer the question. He stared down at the massing vermin. "But no matter what I do, I've never been able to see past this day."

"Because this is the day you die," Martin surmised quietly.

The badger lord blinked and scratched his chin. "Wow, no, actually, that makes way more sense."

"What did you think it was going to be, other than that obvious cliché?"

He smiled ruefully. "The day I finally get to retire."

"Sorry," Martin excused weakly.

"Don't be. It's been the fate of every Badger Lord before me to fall in battle, against enemies foreign or domestic, and it shall be for every Badger Lord since," Boar mused. He stared at the wall and let out a deep sigh. "Besides… no rest for the wicked."

The mouse asked quietly, "No rest for the wicked?"

"When I was-"

"Sir! Come quickly!" a uniformed hare called, bounding into the passage.

"Uh, phrasing?" Martin remarked. He struggled to keep up as the badger and the hare bolted out of the room and up the mountain on legs that were much longer than his.

* * *

"Real sorry, sah, this snuck up on us, you see," another hare informed Boar as he entered Salamandastron's crowded control center. "Must be Iforgothisname, sneaky bugger."

"Is that actually his name, or did you just forget it?" Gonff questioned. For some reason, he and Dinny were already in the room. Log-a-log was nowhere to be seen.

"Sssh!" Boar snapped. He leaned in and whispered. "It's actually Ripfang, but I've got half the mountain convinced it really is 'Iforgothisname' and I think I can get that number even higher."

"Who?" Martin asked, breathing heavily as he stumbled in.

"Captain Iforgothisname," the badger explained, practically spitting the words. "The most evil of all searats. He fights and sinks everyone he sees, then takes the crews as slaves. He lets his crew at the womenfolk, of age or not. And, rumour has it, he talks at the theatre."

Gonff remarked, "Wow, he really is evil!"

"Evil, yes, but hardly a fool. Unlike most of his ilk, Iforgothisname is as cunning as he is vile. The legends of the mountain keep many away, but not him." He pointed out the window at a dark blob barely visible on the horizon. "That's his ship, the Bloodwake. Parked right on the horizon, where we can see him but we can't hit him. Not easily, anyway."

"He sent us this message," the hare said, handing his ruler a sheet of paper. "I think he's taunting us, sah."

"A challenge, warrior to warrior, to settle it once and for all," the badger summarized, skimming the page. "I think you might be right about today, Martin. But if it's my time, I'm taking him with me."

"Sah, you can't be serious!" he objected. "We'll send a squad down with you, army to army."

"I'll gladly fight by your side!" Martin offered. "My friends, too!"

The three of them struck poses with finger guns which were probably supposed to be intimidating, but all just looked ridiculously silly.

"No." Boar's voice was firm and resolute. "This is my fight, and my fight alone."

* * *

"Why?" Martin asked.

He sighed. "Because this is how it must be."

"Again, why?" the mouse repeated.

But Boar was already gone!

* * *

Ferny was awkened by… whistling? Realizing that something was seriously amiss, his eyes snapped open. He was sitting in his pilot's seat, as usual, but there was a strange mouse half-sitting on the jump seat twirling a sword in slow circles. "Huh, wha- what the bloody hell are you doing in my helo?"

The strange mouse smiled ominously. "Oh, not much. I'm Martin, Martin The Warrior. What's your name?"

He gulped. "Fernwood McIntosh, sir. Most people call me Ferny."

"Alright, Ferny, here's how it's gonna go," Martin said calmly, continuing to twirl his blade. "We're gonna go on a little trip to help out your badger lord."

"I- I can't do that!" Ferny objected.

The warrior nodded slowly. "Damn shame. I'd hate to have to report you for sleeping on the job."

"No, don't- you don't have to do that, sir," Ferny stammered. He began throwing switches, lighting off the helicopter's twin turbine engines. "I- we- we'll go help."

Martin clapped him on the shoulder. "Excellent!"

As he took his position behind a door gun and Ferny made the final preparations for takeoff, another mouse and a mole burst out onto the helipad, running toward him.

"Martin, what the hell are you doing?" Gonff shouted.

"You fucking asshole!" Dinny yelled. Hearing a few familiar notes, he then asked rhetorically, "Is that Fortunate Son?"

It was too late. The Huey had already taken off, and their friend wouldn't have been able to hear them anyway. With the blades whirring at full speed above him and Fortunate Son playing over the helicopter's speakers, Martin The Warrior yanked a belt of ammunition through the door machine gun and enthusiastically racked the charging handle.

"Get us close, Ferny!" he shouted.

"Aye, sah!" the pilot replied, too terrified to object. He pulled the stick over, bringing the helicopter into a slow circle over the beach. Usually, he preferred flying _away_ from the battle. But even though they were low enough to kick up sand, he seriously doubted the duelling enemies below could jump high enough to take down his flying machine.

"Get some! Get some!" Martin shouted at the top of his lungs. He held down the trigger, the machine gun thumping hard beneath his paws. Bright yellow tracers cut through the night, blanketing the two fighters on the ground below. "Yeah! Get some!"

* * *

"What the fuck is he doing?" Dinny shouted, watching the carnage through a pair of binoculars and a vision slit carved into the side of the mountain. The helicopter continued to circle, its passenger blasting the two fighters indiscriminately. Both the rat and the badger had collapsed to the ground, their blood soaking into the sand, but gunfire continued to rain down on them, sending a few errant body parts flying.

The ever-cheerful Gonff had a surprisingly morose reply. "Getting us all killed, probably."

Around them, the command center was a flurry of activity. It was filled with hares, some which stared intently at consoles, some which darted about, and a very few who stood stoically and acted as islands of calm in the sea of chaos. The background din was loud, and there was a thick air of tension in the room.

One of the calm ones was Lupin, who wore the stripes of a Colonel and stood more or less in the center of the room. She watched her immediate superior, the Badger Lord, get ripped to shreds without a hint of emotion. There would be time for grief later. She had to get everyone through the next few minutes first.

"They're going to see this is as a double-cross," a slim, brown-coated hare told her. Major Ffring was third-in-command, now second-in-command. He also kept his emotions carefully in check.

"It is a fucking double-cross," she replied quietly, then turned and barked, "Weps! Spin up Termite missiles in batteries one and two. Lock target Bravo One and-"

"Vampire vampire vampire!" a hare behind a console shouted, voice near panic. "Four missiles inbound, closing fast, time to impact forty seconds!"

"All batteries released, kill all inbound tracks with birds!" Lupin ordered. "Lock target Bravo One and fire!"

"How are they going to hurt us inside a mountain?" Dinny asked rhetorically.

"Armor piercing thermobarics," the Colonel snapped, brushing by the two guests. She glanced out the vision slit. Four missiles had exploded from the _Bloodwake_ and were headed towards them at an alarming speed. A barrage of smaller missiles darted towards them from the base of the mountain, and at least one of them scored a hit that lit up the night. But… "Weps, why do we only have two Termites in the air?"

"Battery two suffered a power failure and is offline. Firing two more missiles from battery one!" the harrowed hare stated, feverishly working his console.

"Give me status on the inbound missiles!" Lupin shouted. Outside, the smaller missiles had stopped launching, although several of them were still flying off into the distance. Streams of tracers arced up from various points on the mountain towards the incoming missiles.

"Two missiles destroyed- three missiles destroyed. Last missile inside PD engagement envelope, impact in five seconds-"

A dull boom echoed through the room, and they could feel a disconcerting thump through their feet.

"Damage report!" she snapped.

"Hit was on level nine, east quarter, crew quarters," a hare replied from the other side of the room. "Possible fires, no response, damage control teams moving in."

She processed the information and immediately switched gears. "Time to impact for our missiles?"

"Twenty seconds," the weapons officer answered. "Three of our birds still in the air, target it maneuvering and launching countermeasures."

"Come on, hit," Ffring muttered under his breath.

There was a bright flash outside the window, followed by a loud bang several seconds later.

"Two hits, target destroyed."

With that, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate. Several of the hares slowed down or leaned back from their consoles, and the frantic chatter switched to a calmer din.

"Get Colonel Flufftail up, we need someone to handle the switchover," Lupin ordered, letting out a deep breath. She turned to their two guests, who were still in a state of partial shock. "Better get up to the helipad. Your friend… well, let's just say he's going to need your support."

* * *

When Martin returned to Salamandastron, he found himself stared down by a trio of hares standing in front of the entrance. One was tall, scarred with an ear missing, and had a chest covered in medals. The other two were dressed in fatigues and were very well armed. All had very serious expressions on their faces.

"You better have a real fuckin' good apology ready," Dinny told his friend- well, acquaintance at best, if he was being honest- punching him roughly in the shoulder.

"Still not too late to give 'em the slip," Gonff offered, sliding up beside them.

"No!" Martin snapped. He shook his head. "No. This was my fault. I… I killed Boar The Fighter. I took out Mossflower's last, best hope for peace through my own foolishness. I have to face the consequences."

Gonff and Dinny shared a look. A very shocked and slightly proud look.

The hare with all the medals scratched behind his ear and awkwardly clarified, "That's, uh, not the problem."

"Then what is?" Martin inquired.

"Well, sah, you see, we use the, shall we say, Klingon style promotion system," the hare explained. "Meaning he who bests the current Badger Lord in combat shall take his place. Which, unfortunately for all parties involved, would technically be you."

"No! I can't be the badger lord!" he protested, shocked. "I'm not even a badger!"

"Neither was Cirilla- erm, not a clue what she was at all, actually- and she was quite good if I do say so myself. Bloody shame she had to go back to, erm, where was it again?"

"No, this is ridiculous, even for me," Martin objected again, continuing to demonstrate an unexpected sense of self-awareness. "Sorry. I'm not your Badger Lord. I resign, abdicate, whatever-"

Gonff kicked him hard in the shin.

"Ow! Gonff, buddy, what the hell?"

"If you're Badger Lord, the army follows you," he hissed quietly in his friend's ear, though some of the sharper-eared hares heard it.

"So?" Martin whispered, puzzled. "How does that help me?"

"You have a literal army of trained military hares at your command."

"What would I do with them, start a taxi service? Still not following, Gonff."

The mousethief sighed and explained it in the simplest terms possible. "You are in command of an army that can rival Tsarmina's and help take back Mossflower."

"Yeah, and maybe Bella won't rip your fucking throat out for capping her dad," Dinny added less-than-helpfully.

"Oh, yes, of course, I understand!" Martin said, nodding even though he still wasn't quite sure about the whole thing. He turned to the hare. "Bow before your new lord! Eulalia very good wot wot!"

* * *

 _I guess there is no one to blame_

 _We're leaving ground (leaving ground)_

 _Will things ever be the same again?_

 _It's the final countdown_

"Turn that shit off!" Skipped yelled as he stormed into Brockhall. He didn't wait for anyone to actually do it, though, instead smashing the speaker to bits with his fist.

"What happened, Skipper?" Lady Amber asked softly. "Where's Mask? Where's the crack squad we sent as backup?"

"They didn't make it. None of them," the otter answered, collapsing onto a stool and burying his face in his paws. His voice was numb, matter-of-fact. "The crack squad deserted and tried to sell their product to Kotir. They were summarily executed."

"What about Mask? What about your shipmate?" Amber prodded. She was hesitant, but for the good of the Resistance, they needed to know.

"Brother's nephew's cousin's former shipmate," he corrected sadly, pausing on each word. "He took an arrow to the knee on the way out. Knew he'd slow us down, knew he'd never make it, so he gave me the hogs and asked me to finish him off. I… I made it quick."

"Jesus Christ!" Abbess Germaine exclaimed from the other end of the room. She blinked with sudden realization. "Huh. Guess that answers the religion question."

Amber continued to prod, "And the hogs? Ferdy and Coggs?"

No one dared point out the rhyme. A few goodbeasts lurking in the room hurriedly suppressed chuckles.

"Asleep," Skipper answered with a slight nod. "They don't know what happened, thank God."

"Yeah." She had nothing else to say.

After a long pause, the otter looked up and stated simply, "We can't keep doing this. With or without Boar, we're ending this war."


	8. Fire and Foxes

I started with the same events, but after comparing this to the original version, it's become something completely different. I hope it's a change for the better. It's certainly _stranger_.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Fire and Foxes**

Fortunata was a sad sight to see in her substandard state. She lie in a hospital bed, breathing slowly with an intravenous drip in her arm and a monitor beeping softly on the other side. Bandages crisscrossed her stomach, half-covered by a thin green blanket. Her room was small and dirty, smelled of antiseptic, and was just a shade too dim to be comfortable.

Tsarmina bit her lip, straightened her back, and marched in. She set down a bouquet of flowers at the foot of the bed- beside a few other bouquets, a box of chocolates and a balloon- and greeted, "Hey. How do you feel?"

"Like I got stabbed," Fortunata replied. She tried to straighten up, winced as pain shot through her battered body, and gave up. "Because I did. Get stabbed, I mean."

"They told me you were out for a long time," the queen said.

"Stabbed through the spleen, up through diaphragm, punctured my left lung. Nearly bled to death." She shook her head. "But, I'd rather not think about that."

"What happened?" the wildcat asked softly, sitting down in a hard plastic chair beside the fox. "I know the prisoners escaped, there was a skirmish, and we lost a bunch of guards. But, well-"

"Why are you asking _me_?" Fortunata questioned. "I got stabbed in the first five minutes. That bastard otter hoodwinked me. Wish I could have slit his throat myself."

"I was gone for the whole thing," Tsarmina admitted. "I met this fox I found on Craigslist. I think you'd get along."

She narrowed her eyes in reply. "That's _really_ racist."

"Huh?"

The fox sighed, exasperated. "Did you hang out with your buddy Garfield?"

"Ah. Point taken."

The vixen laughed quietly and asked, "Is he cute?"

"No, no, not like that," Tsarmina corrected. "This is a business relationship, nothing more. His name is Bane, of Bane's Private Military and General Contractor. For a reasonable sum, he's going to help us defeat the woodlanders once and for all."

"I don't like the idea of mercs," the vixen groaned. "Guns for hire, loyal only to the dollar and each other, with little in the way of oversight."

"I know," the queen agreed. "But the woodlanders have been wearing us down, slowly and surely. Our allies have turned their backs on us, and we need someone to shore up the lines and harden the tip of the spear. These are dark times, but the only way through hell…"

"…is through it. The sooner this war is over, the better." She shook her head. "Huh. Say hi to Bane for me."

"I will," Tsarmina promised, standing up. "I need to go kick the shit out of some woodlanders. You just rest, okay?"

* * *

 _You've got to go and dig those holes_

 _With broken hands and withered soles_

 _Emancipated from all you know_

 _You've got to go and dig those holes_

The moles sang enthusiastically as they went about their business, slowly but surely clawing their way through the earth. They were an industrious sort, with a highly organized operation and well-defined roles. Three tunnels were being dug, each with a strong digging mole at the end and a line of others behind them pulling soil back up to the surface. Another team took the dirt and shoveled it into even piles, while Foremole strode around and made sure it was all in sync.

"This is suuuuuper boring," Barklad complained, sitting in a tree above them. The squirrels were handling guard duty while the moles dug and the otters did something in the river, in a slightly worrying racially-based division of labour. He'd been watching the area for hours now, but so far the only notable event was a mole dropping his load on top of an otter.

"Right? We've literally exhausted every time-killing option we have," Oakapple agreed from beside him. She began counting out on her fingers. "Phones are dead. Played and got bored of Caravan, Gwent, and Triad. Gossiped about everyone we know. Speculated on the affairs of well-known and lesser-known celebrities. Shared our deepest personal secrets. God, I wish _something_ would happen!"

Soon, she would get her wish.

* * *

"What a fuckin' shitshow," Lance Corporal Ratflank complained as he trudged through the forest. "Last time we went into the forest we got our asses kicked. We could just kick back in our nice air-conditioned fortress and wait for them to either starve or do something stupid, but no, fuck that, we're headed back into the goddamn bush to go rodent hunting."

"Yeah, and we have fucking desert uniforms," Steelflower added, thumbing her beige-coloured sleeve. "Woodland for Iraq, desert for Mossflower. It's like they fucking want us to get shot-"

"Cut the gab!" their lieutenant ordered. "We're a professional army, and we don't want those mercs thinking otherwise."

"Yes, sir," they both replied, continuing to march in silence.

Near the front of the column, Tsarmina marched beside her new hire. Bane definitely looked rougher than his picture, and his column of mercenaries- some forty strong- was much the same way. But despite their generally dishevelled appearance, they had the demeanour of a group that could get things done.

And that, she could respect.

"It was a good thing to head out at first light," the mercenary fox stated. "I reckon you're right about these woodlanders. They ain't warfighters, but they're in a corner now, and they'll fight like hell."

"For a homegrown militia, they're surprisingly good fighters. Clever, too, I bet they're planning something right now," Tsarmina agreed. She asked casually, "Which part of Texas you from?"

Bane laughed. "Reno. But I spent ten years doin' engineering for ExxonMobil down in Irving. That's where I picked up the accent, you see."

"You're an engineer?" she asked, genuinely curious. "I'd imagine you'd make six figures doing that for ten years. Why'd you go into this line of work?"

"Engineering was good money, but it was just missin' something," he answered cryptically. "That was a job, this is my life."

"Fair enough."

A grey fox in tattered green fatigues came crashing through the bush, sprinting towards them. Tsarmina tensed, briefly reaching for her weapon before relaxing. "What is it?"

"Woodlanders, about a klick over that ridge by the river," the fox reported. "Bunch of moles diggin', couple squirrels and otters standing guard but they're barely awake."

"Digging?" his boss asked.

"Yeah, boss, but I didn't stick around to see what or where."

Tsarmina held up a paw. "Why would they be digging?"

Bane chewed his lip, then smirked wickedly. "Doesn't matter. Let's kick ass."

* * *

One moment was peace. The next was pandemonium.

Bane's mercenaries rolled in fast and hard, hacking wildly with machetes as they charged straight into the woodlanders. Body parts flew everywhere and blood splashed the trees as the fierce foxes clashed with the cornered and desperate squirrels, otters, and moles. The defenders wielded bows, clubs, and even pickaxes, fighting what was immediately a losing battle against a more numerous, better skilled opponent.

Tsarmina's forces held back and marched in with shields raised and pikes out, not quite a phalanx because of the trees but as close as they could get. With a trumpet call, they then smoothly changed tactics. The formation stopped, the front line of troops dropped low and dug in their pikes, and the line behind them unleashed a fusillade of musket fire over their shoulders.

The volley cut down half the defenders, along with two of Bane's mercenaries. Already on the brink of breaking, the woodlanders were thrown into complete disarray and total retreat. A few stayed and fought to the bitter end- one otter cut down three foxes before a machete sliced through his neck- but most dropped their weapons and bolted for the trees.

The attackers were ruthless, however. The line of musketeers dropped down and reloaded while the one behind them raised their weapons and fired. Bane's mercenaries sheathed their blades and brought out a variety of pistols, crossbows, grenades and improvised explosives. Digging moles and the squirrels and otters tasked to protect them were shot in the back or had their legs blown out from under them. A few escaped. Most didn't make it.

One moment was pandemonium. The next was peace.

The battle ended suddenly, in an absolute rout. The guns fell silent, and the only sounds were the dull clanking of boots and armour and the horrific screams of the wounded. A few blasts sounded from a trumpet, and Tsarmina's formation disbanded. Some helped their wounded comrades, while others dug into their packs for food and water. A chaplain circulated, giving a final modicum of comfort to the mortally wounded and a final prayer for the dead on both sides.

Most of Bane's foxes just wiped their blades, smiled, and relaxed. A few of them began searching the corpses for anything valuable.

Bane himself strode over to the three holes in the ground where the moles had been digging, now splashed with blood. One of the moles lay on the loam next to the entrance, her eyes open but unseeing, chest torn wide open.

"What is it?" Tsarmina asked him, trying not to look at the bloodied corpse beside her or the orange fox digging through its chest cavity.

"These're mole tunnels. Digging from the riverbank… yup, towards Kotir. Now, your fortress is sturdy, but it's built in what was once a floodplain, I reckon a good twenty feet below sea level. Damn good thing we stopped this." He licked his lips. "Bet there's still moles down there. Let's fill 'em in, bury them alive!"

The other fox stood and smirked a wicked smirk. "Exactly what I was thinkin, boss!"

"What? No! We're not burying anyone alive," Tsarmina snapped. She suspected she'd hired a psycho, but had hoped that he'd at least have some discretion. "Jesus Christ on a pikestaff, nobody deserves that, not even woodlanders! Just because I'm a wildcat doesn't mean I'm a fucking sociopath! Toss some grenades down there or something."

"Fine," Bane acknowledged lamely, visibly disappointed. As he stalked off, he brusquely ordered his subordinate, "Willy-pete, two down each hole."

"Fuck me," the queen muttered under her breath. She headed off toward her own forces, stopping in front of a weasel who immediately came to attention in her presence. She snapped, "Captain Brogg, casualty report."

He answered stiffly, "Five dead, eleven wounded. Corpsman says that'll probably be seven and nine by the end of the day. One of the other injured lost a leg, and we got one rat who doesn't have a scratch on him but ain't all there anymore."

"You count him as one of the eleven?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Tsarmina paused and realized system. "That isn't counting the contractors, is it?"

"No, ma'am," he answered. "Five dead, four wounded. Half of those were blue on blue; we shot them in the back."

"We held back in formation with shields up, while they charged in with reckless abandon," she pondered, scratching her chin. "Why'd we take _more_ casualties?"

"No idea, ma'am," Brogg replied. "Perhaps an oversight. But if it means anything, I got these numbers from Commander Bane himself."

"I'm pretty sure it's just Bane."

"Yes, ma'am."

Tsarmina nodded. "Alright. Try to cut down on the friendly fire- they _are_ our allies, at least for now. But if it's you or them… keep your troops safe."

"Yes, ma'am."

The queen couldn't help herself. She asked, "You got a pole shoved up your ass or something, Brogg?"

"No, ma'am," he answered seriously, with a hint of a smile twitching on his face.

"Dismissed, Captain. Get some rest," Tsarmina ordered. She glanced around the clearing. "Have you seen Bane?"

"No, ma'am," he answered as he marched off toward the wounded gathered in one corner of the clearing.

"Damn it." The queen stalked over to the nearest fox, a light-coloured female polishing her blade. "Where's Bane?"

"I dunno." She turned and shouted across the clearing, "Dave, you seen the boss?"

"I think he went up the river, round the bend, to take a leak," a patched fox shouted back.

"Thanks." Tsarmina headed in the indicated direction, briskly striding down up the river bank. There were still a few corpses on the ground, which she gingerly stepped over. She sighed when she rounded the bend. "God damn it."

A man dressed like a bat stood over the still-warm corpse of Bane.

"Why did you do that?" Tsarmina shouted at the mysterious stranger.

"I'm a man dressed like a bat," he growled, before swirling his cape and disappearing into the trees.

* * *

 _We are now arriving at the River Moss ferry terminal. All drivers and passengers please return to their vehicles. Walk-on passengers will exit via the overhead walkway on the left hand side at the front of the main passenger deck. Thank you for choosing Mossflower Ferries._

"Man, I hate the ferry," Martin complained, rolling out of his seat and stretching a bit.

"Eh, you get used to it," Log-a-log said with a shrug, shutting down his laptop and carefully tucking it away in his bag. He turned and asked Gonff, "You're driving, right?"

The mousethief quickly tucked away what looked suspiciously like a liquor bottle. "Yup!"

"Shotgun!" Dinny called.

"Damn it!" Martin swore.

* * *

"Are we there yet?" Martin whined from the backseat of the small, stuffy excuse of an SUV.

"No, Martin, we're not there yet," Loggy said, exasperatedly. "For the fifteenth goddamn time, we are not there yet."

Dinny commented, "We _have_ been driving for pretty long."

"I think I missed the exit," Gonff said quietly, knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I think we needed the 195."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Dinny bellowed at the top of his lungs, "ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?"

"Give me a break, matey, it's taking all I got just to keep this rental piece of shit steady!" Gonff retorted. "The alignment is shot to shit!"

"Alignment my ass! You've been drinking," Dinny snapped.

"So I had a little bit on the ferry. It was only a few ounces!" he shot back, motioning with his paws.

"Truck!" the mole suddenly cried.

The mousethief waggled a finger in the air. "No, my fossorial friend, I believe this is technically a car."

"No, you fucking idiot, TRUCK!" Loggy shouted from the back, pointing out the windshield.

"Ah shit!" Gonff's eyes widened when he realized there was a semi bearing down on them at two hundred kilometres of closing speed. He quickly jerked the wheel over, bringing them back into their lane and nearly slamming into the side of a Mercedes-Benz in the process.

"Hey, wasn't the 195 like fifty miles back?" the river shrew asked.

"Yeah, no shit, why do you think I'm so pissed?" Dinny acknowledged.

Martin interjected, "Uh, guys-"

"Shut up!" the other three immediately yelled, cutting him off.

"I was just gonna say the 208 coming up will take us right to Kotir," the warrior mouse explained quickly.

Reluctantly, Gonff signalled and changed lanes. They made the rest of the journey in tense silence.

* * *

But the stalwart warrior mouse had already bolted off, standing as tall as he could on a rise in full view of Kotir.

"They may take our lives, but they will never take our freedom!" Martin hollered, channeling his inner Mel Gibson as he held his space sword high in the air. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Also, the Jews did 9/11!"

No reply came, only echoing screams, errant gunfire, and muffled explosions. The valley below was a literal warzone, once-grassy loam turned muddy and torn up by shell craters. Most of the buildings surrounding Kotir were blown apart or on fire, and plumes of smoke trailed up from the fortress itself. Burned out vehicles and torn apart corpses dotted the landscape, barely visible against the carnage surrounding them.

"I think we're late to the party, matey," Gonff told the warrior, clamping a paw on his shoulder. "Huh. Really should have taken the 195."

* * *

 _Five Hours Earlier_

"Today, we the people of Mossflower are going to rise up as one and say WE HAVE HAD ENOUGH! We shall cast off the chains of our oppressors and take our rightful place as citizens with equal, um, uh, equal, uh…"

Skipper of Otters trailed off, his briefly energetic speech quickly deflating. Hundreds of goodbeasts; mostly mice, moles, squirrels, otters, and hedgehogs with a smattering of dormice, voles, shrews, and a single family of beavers. Their once-rapt attention was quickly giving way to chattering amongst themselves and checking their phones.

"Today we're going to take the fight to Tsarmina and her evil horde!" he shouted, banging his fist on the podium. "I'm not going to lie, a lot of us are probably going to die. Gonna be a lot of broken families, dead sons, orphans… we're going up against a professional army that's better than us by every measurable metric. That's, uh, not encouraging, but we've got spirit! If we die, we die free. But we won't, because we'll win. We've got, uh, flood tunnels that kind of work… didn't quite finish those."

"I'm not a speaker, not hardly. But here I am. And I'm not a fighter- well, I mean, I am, kinda, but you're not… shit, I already said that, where were we?" Skipper paused before finding his place and banging his fist against the podium. "Right! The guys that rose up against the British in 1776 weren't soldiers either, just a bunch of people who had enough. Except I think Washington was a general- was Washington a general already? And the French were in there, too, nobody likes talking about the French but the French were definitely in there. Huh…"

He trailed off in his rambling, looking down and flipping through his notes before glancing back up again. "Right! Today, the reign of terror ends! Today we fight and die for a free Mossflower!"

The crowd stared up at him, once again expectant.

He raised his arms into the air and announced quietly, "That's it, that's the end of the speech, everybody go kill vermin now."

"You should have let me do the speech," Abbess Germaine quietly commented, taking a swig from a silver flask before handing it back to Bella. A rusty sword hung from her belt, and she wore what was once a Power Mac G4 as makeshift armour.

"I know, but he was just so eager, and he had those puppy-dog eyes," the badger said with a shrug. She was decked out in a set of old badger plates that had clearly seen better days, once brilliant polished steel and now more rust than metal. A huge polearm made from a 2x4 and lawnmower blades was held in her paws.

* * *

The attack was supposed to begin at first light.

It didn't, of course, because most of the woodlanders didn't want to get up that early, Skipper's awful speech along with its setup and teardown took almost an hour, and the untrained mob of goodbeasts was slow to move. By the time they'd actually made it into position, it was already almost lunchtime.

"Alright, boys and girls, the theme of today's show will be fire and water," Abbess Germaine announced through a megaphone. Very few heard, and she frowned when she realized the batteries were completely dead. She sighed, then turned and shouted, "Skipper, hit it."

"Aye, ma'am!" The otter snapped off a salute, then started cranking hard on a massive valve. The sound of rushing water filled the creatures' ears as the floodgates opened and water from the River Moss rushed toward Kotir.

"Now let 'em have it!" Bella bellowed. "Everything we've got!"

Giant slingshots, makeshift catapults, potato cannons, and even a finely-crafted replica trebuchet began flinging pipe bombs and bottles of flammable liquid into the air toward the fortress. Most of the projectiles flew wild or exploded midair, but some of them hit their mark, landing inside the walls of Kotir.

* * *

"Where are those fucking foxes?" Tsarmina snapped at her guard captain as she stormed out of her bedchambers. She was visibly furious, with scorch marks on her once pristine armour and a look of absolute rage on her face.

"No idea, ma'am," Brogg answered, stiff but unflinching. "Last I saw they just walked out, figured without their boss there was no outfit anymore."

"Damn it," the queen snapped. "Get the firefighters scrambled, everything's on fire. The gates, the windows, even the steel reinforced fucking concrete."

"Yes, ma'am," the captain acknowledged. He keyed his radio. "Plugg, scramble the fire teams… gate's a priority, sure, but a get a team up here to the Queen's chamber's on the double… looks pretty bad… everywhere, huh? Do what you can."

"I thought being queen would be fun," she complained. "Now everything is _literally_ on fire. Literally, Captain, literally!"

The grizzled weasel nodded. "I hear you, ma'am."

"How bad is it?" she demanded, heading down the stairs toward Kotir's great hall.

He told her, "Bad, ma'am. Those woodlanders are hitting us with stuff we didn't even know they had. This old castle's steady, but it's taking a beating. We still outnumber them, and I'm confident in my soldiers, but-"

Tsarmina held up a paw, stopping in her tracks. "Hear that?"

"Our troops scrambling, yes, ma'am."

"No, not that," she snapped. Suddenly, she bolted down the stairs, waving for Brogg to follow as she passed through the hectic great hall toward another staircase. She threw open the basement door, then stopped a quarter of the way down the sloped passage with such abruptness that Brogg nearly stumbled into her.

They could go no further. The passage was completely flooded!


	9. Martin Goes Crazy

Another artifact title. I was worried this chapter would run short- it's still not as long as it probably should be, but not as underlength as I was afraid of. I feel this chapter is very adequate, no more and no less. I would have liked to have a more standout chapter this close to the end but unfortunately I'm quite busy with other things at the moment.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Martin Goes Crazy**

The water didn't stay in the basement. Soldiers hurriedly moved sandbags from the defences to the keep in an attempt to stem the flow, but it was hopeless. They had all assumed it was just a particularly bad case of seasonal flooding up until the moment water began pooling on the floor of the great hall. While the woodlanders hadn't finished their tunnels, Skipper had left enough safety margin for it not to matter. The moment he opened the floodgates, Kotir was doomed.

"Water, water, gaaah!" Tsarmina shrieked. The water was just above ankle height, but quickly rising to her knees. She hopped onto a now-floating table and shook her boots off. "Come on, Captain. I think we can both fit on it."

"Belay that, ma'am. I'll never make it far with an arrow in me knee." Brogg drew himself to full height, grimacing in pain, and saluted. "It has been an honour-"

Suddenly his head exploded, showering the wildcat queen with gore. The window behind him was shattered, and the remains of an exploding arrow embedded in the wall beside him.

The wildcat dropped down as close to the table as she could, then started paddling for the open window. It was wide enough to fit the table through, and to her horror, the water level was almost the same outside.

It wasn't over yet! Whether it was the woodlanders or her damned brother, she'd get them! Kotir is a people, not a place, she reminded herself. Yes, she'd win the battle, end the war, and rebuild Kotir more glorious than ever before!

* * *

This was it. This was where it would end. He could see his foe, standing furious atop the wall of the vile castle with sword in paw.

Martin braced himself, took a deep breath, then brought the megaphone to his face. He bellowed, "Tsarmina, can you hear me?"

"What?" Tsarmina shouted back. She did an exaggerated shrugging motion.

Martin fiddled with the device, then brought it back up to his face. "Can you hear me? Hello?"

"The batteries are dead, idiot," Abbess Germaine snapped, yanking the megaphone from his grasp as she stalked by.

Martin grabbed a note card and marker, then scribbled a message and held it up in the air. _SARMINA!_

A few seconds later, a chalkboard appeared above the parapet. It read, _What do you want, mouse?_

He quickly scribbled a response. _you're compleat surender_

The answer was immediate. _No_

He scribbled out, _Than you have until dawn to live,_ held it up for thirty seconds, then tossed it on the ground.

As the sun began to set behind him, the mouse warrior held up his sword and monologued, "Alright, this is it. Time to kill Tsarmina. She shall fall beneath the mighty sword- _space_ sword- of Martin The Warrior!"

"I thought you said she had until dawn," Abbess Germaine pointed out, limping around him again.

He smirked mischievously. "Yeah, but I was lying. This way, she won't expect it!"

* * *

"He's lying. He's not going to give me the night," Tsarmina mused, standing atop Kotir's thick west well. As much as she hated to admit it, the once-proud castle was in ruin. The inner courtyard had become a lake, with the water level up to the third floor and still slowly rising. The only way to get from the wall to the now mostly flooded keep was by boat.

"Nay, he shaln't, shall he?" Ashleg agreed, hobbling up beside her. "I reckon he'll be a'here by the end of the eve, and in the ground afore daybreak."

"Why are you talking like that?" the queen questioned, brow furrowed as she whirled on her lieutenant. "And where have you been for the last month?"

"On a trip, marm, vistin' mah cousin down in Alabama," the aged marten answered. "Our grandkids are doin' good, yes'n they be."

She pinched her temples. "You know what, forget I asked."

The crippled creature said, "If you pardon me, marm, you be seem awful sure 'bout that mouse doin' what he's goin' do."

She nodded. "I know his type."

"Warriors?"

The wildcat smirked and shook her head. "Idiots."

"It takes one to know one, ma'rm," Ashleg muttered.

She heard, but said nothing, instead huffing and turning outward to watch the sun set over the land she briefly ruled.

* * *

Decked out in thick, all-black armour, Martin looked the part of the warrior as he stepped onto the battlefield. There was a definite lull in the fighting in the fading light, with a few stray missiles flying this way and that, but no all-out melee. Both sides were content to hold back, fling insults, and wait.

"Where'd you find that armour?" Abbess Germaine demanded, irritation clear in her voice. "I'm going to be one of the most important characters going forward and I had to cut up an old computer."

Martin shrugged. "I dunno, it was in a closet."

She bit back a pithy retort and slapped him on the shoulder. "Well, good luck, we're all rooting for you."

The woodlanders quickly retreated, and Martin found himself standing between Mossflower Woods and the flooded remains of Kotir, alone. He rubbed his now-smarting shoulder, took a deep breath, flipped his visor down and raised his sword up into the air.

Perfectly on cue, his adversary stepped into view from behind a burned-out house just above the waterline. She took a pace forward and smirked as the warrior bolted forward toward her.

"YOU STUPID LOAF OF SMELLY CRAP! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL DECAPITATE YOU AND EAT YOUR HEAD! ARRRRRRRRGH! Hold on a sec." Martin gripped his knees and doubled over, panting. "Just give me a sec. That really took it out of me."

"I'd say I'm going to enjoy killing you, but honestly I'm not even sure who you are," Tsarmina announced, voice almost bored. She drew her sword, a deadly gleaming blade, and gave it a quick flick. "So let's just get this over with."

"How do you not know me?" he shouted angrily. "You're the second person this week! I'm Martin The Warrior! I'm a big deal!"

"No, you aren't. You're just…" A look of realization danced across her face. "Wait, you're the guy who killed my father!"

"It was an accident!" the mouse protested.

"Whatever. I pinned it all on Gingivere anyway." She grinned a wicked grin. "Two birds with one stone, as they say. My brother and my father out of the way. If only he hadn't come back to ruin everything. Tell me, Martin The Warrior, where is my brother now?"

"I have no idea," he answered honestly. "Nobody's seen him since the prison break."

"Surely _you_ did not engineer this plan," the wildcat goaded, voice dripping with disdain.

"No, that was Skipper of Otters," Martin explained. He began to slowly circle his opponent. "He's a pretty smart guy. I think he went to MIT or something. What about you, did you go to college?"

Tsarmina grunted, then shouted a battlecry and charged.

* * *

"And the queen goes all in!" Skipper shouted, stepping up onto a fortuitously placed box as he began his narration. "This is the championship round, folks, the one you've all been waiting for!

"Martin dodges to the left- that was a close one. She may have said she won't enjoy it but it sure looks like the queen is playing with him. He'd better step up his game- oh, and she nicks him in the arm! That has got to hurt!

"But our underdog hero is a trooper! He's going on the offensive, faking to the right, slashing to the left, oh, and Tsarmina nicks him again. He's got spirit, but she's got skill. He's coming around, going for the legs- and it bounces right off her armor!

"They're back to circling, sizing each other up. And I must say, one of the fighters is looking a lot more tired than the other. I mean, a mouse versus a wildcat? Let's be honest, what were we expecting? But he's still up and he's still moving, so there's still hope here!

"Tsarmina's taking the initiative, coming straight in with a wild slash. Even the greenest fighter could have seen that coming- oh, and Martin takes it hard on the shoulder. He's down, but not out- he's back up and hacking across her legs with his sword in his good arm-"

"Shut the hell up!" Amber shouted, drawing her sword as she bolted by. "We've got vermin to kill!"

"Aye, ma'am," Skipper complied, a bit downtrodden. He exchanged his microphone for a club and charged toward the enemy lines.

* * *

Abbess Germaine found herself separated from her old mustelid friend, just behind the front of the charge but on the opposite wing. She nevertheless raised her sword with a wicked grin as the armies smashed together. An all-out melee erupted, with all manner of animals hacking wildly while trying to avoid attacks from zero to six others, some on their own side.

A rat with a mean saber and one missing fang stared down the mouse. He licked his lips, giving his sword an experimental swing. Nonplussed, the Abbess reached into her pocket, grabbed a handful of sand and threw it into his face.

"What the hell?" the rat shouted, clawing at his eyes. "I thought you Loamhedge mice were pacifists!"

"Pacifism? Fuck that!" the Abbess swore, bringing her sword down onto her opponent. To her disappointment, he twisted at the last minute and it skittered off his pauldron instead of lopping his head off. "Ever met a Shaolin monk?"

Their swords clashed, two not-really-skilled fighters clumsily parrying each other. "No."

"Neither have I, but I'm sure they're pretty badass!" With surprising agility, the Abbess dove to the ground, bringing her sword around through the rat's legs. He screamed in agony, crashing to the ground and grabbing for his mangled stumps.

"Now then, where were we?" she asked, surveying the melee briefly before sighting another opponent and dashing toward them. "Right. Killing vermin."

* * *

Even Martin The Warrior, for whom humility was a rare and abstract thought, could recognize the situation as hopeless. He may have still believed he was the best warrior in the world, but Tsarmina was somehow better.

His left shoulder was almost certainly broken- any attempt to move the limb was pure agony. He was bleeding profusely from wounds on his back and legs. Still, he stumbled toward his opponent, leaping at her with space sword raised high.

Tsarmina blocked the swing with her own (non-space) sword, and to his horror, when the blades made contact his space sword shattered. Once again, he was left with only the hilt of a weapon, useless in battle. Now weaponless, he aimed a kick at the queen's shins, only to be sent flying when she swung her blade wide and caught him in the chest.

The warrior let out a high-pitched shriek of pain when he landed, digging a furrow into the soft earth. He tried to stumble to his feet, but his entire body cried out in protest, refusing to respond. He dug fitfully with his hilt, left without anything to even drag himself up with.

The queen was on him in an instant, sword gently poking his throat. She raised her visor, revealing a wicked smirk. "Any last words?"

"I HAVE HAD IT WITH THESE MOTHERFUCKING CATS IN THIS MOTHERFUCKING CASTLE!" Martin The Warrior bellowed, his voice deep and powerful. His eyes turned red. His hair caught fire. He jumped to his feet, raised his fist and swung, faster and more powerful than ever before.

It wasn't an amazing punch, but it took Tsarmina completely by surprise. She reeled when it connected with her unprotected cheek.

Martin pressed the advantage, consumed with nothing but rage and aggression. He jumped onto the wildcat and wrapped his legs around her torso, delivering savage punch after savage punch to her face. She went down, and he fell with her, not even pausing in his assault. Bone, cartilage, skin and teeth were pounded to amorphous mush under his bloodied fists.

At some point, Tsarmina stopped thrashing and lie still. But the warrior had no sense of time and no care for it anyway. He continued his onslaught until there was nothing left of the queen's face, her head smashed into a pulp that flowed out of her cracked helmet onto the muddy soil.

Only when the Queen was truly dead did Martin's rage begin to fade.

Around him, the battle began to die down. Worn down from the destruction of their fortress and the panicked final evacuation in particular, the Kotir garrison was at a disadvantage from the very beginning. They hadn't expected the mad charge, and the ferocity of the attack caught them off guard.

Word quickly spread of their queen's death. A few fought to the very end, but most of the guard cut their losses, tossing their weapons down and raising their paws into the air while their commanders made arrangements for a formal surrender. Kotir was in ruins, it had no leader, and half their number were dead or dying. They'd fought hard, but there was no point in fighting on. Surely, the goodbeasts would treat their prisoners fairly.

The woodlanders, too, began to calm. A few made a last kill or two even after their adversaries had thrown down their weapons, but they soon began sheathing their swords, tying up prisoners, and tending to their wounded.

And many of them gathered around the blood-covered mouse and the once-powerful queen sprawled awkwardly on the ground beside him.

"The queen lies vanquished!" Martin The Warrior declared, putting on his best posh accent.

Instantly, the crowd began to buzz with derision and disbelief.

"Yeah, right. Like that idiot won a fair fight."

"Martin sucks!"

"Yeah, fuck Martin!"

"Bullshit. He's just trying to take all the credit."

"If he actually killed the Queen then I ain't a hedgehog."

"He must have cheated. No way he could have took out Mini Greeneyes."

"No, even if he cheated he would have lost."

"How did he do it?" Bella finally barked, pushing her way through the crowd. A rat's arm bounced along behind her. She glared at Martin. "How did you do it?"

Despite his reputation, Martin was not _completely_ delusional. He told himself that he was the better warrior and he was just having an off day, but he knew that he had almost lost. It had been a hard fight where his opponent could have killed him, maybe should have killed him. On the other hand, he could never admit that he had won only through a deus ex machina and his opponent's juggling of the idiot ball.

Instead, he reached down and picked up the first weapon he saw, a rusty longsword stuck point-down in the dirt. "With this, the great sword of Martin The Warrior, which shall grant the powers of peerless swordsmanship and unmatched courage to those who are worthy!"

He struck a pose with his purloined sword, standing gallantly over the corpse of Mossflower's greatest enemy. He managed to hold it for about five seconds before the sword slipped from his grip and he collapsed to the ground.

"Martin!"


	10. Warriors and Withdrawl

I've happy to report that I've successfully hit my release target. I knew from the beginning that this was never going to be released on the same timeline as the original- the chapters are much longer, I'm much busier, and I don't write all that much faster. I was hoping to have the final chapter out by the eleventh anniversary, and here it is.

There's still an epilogue and some notes to go. It'll be very different from the original epilogue, but hopefully will be a reasonable sendoff to a fic that frankly kind of rode off the rails.

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Warriors and Withdrawl**

"I think he's gonna die," the dark-furred mouse said, finishing her examination of the fallen warrior and wiping her bloodied paws on her tunic. "He's pretty badly beat up."

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Gonff implored. He glanced at his friend slowly bleeding out, then quickly looked away.

"Um, no?" the mouse said awkwardly. "My doctorate is in art history."

"Are you kidding?" he shouted. Turning to the crowd, he shouted. "Is there anyone who is the right kind of doctor?"

"I am!" Abbess Germaine responded, raising her arm and ambling over.

"Please, do something, anything, just don't let him die," Gonff begged, leading her to the warrior.

She raised an eyebrow. "Last time we talked, you two hated each other."

He waved a paw. "Yeah, but we're fire-forged friends or whatever now."

"Wow, he's pretty fucked up." The Abbess poked the warrior with her boot, then wiped the blood on the grass. "Yup. Medical opinion: pretty fucked up."

"That's your medical opinion?" the mousethief yelled, infuriated with her nonchalant attitude.

"Well, _excuse me_ ," the Abbess snapped, rolling her eyes. "I spent most of medical school strung out on shrooms and Adderall."

He asked softly, almost begging, "Can you help him?"

"I can give him a dose of LSD," she answered, holding up a wrinkled plastic bag.

"How will that help?" Gonff screeched.

"Well, I mean, he's still gonna die, but trust me, going out high is a better way to go."

"Damn it."

"Look, kid, what do you want me to say? We torched the only hospital for a hundred miles." She threw her arms into the air, exasperated. "Do you really want me to try to perform invasive thoracic surgery on a critical trauma victim with nothing but a dull box cutter, a rusty set of vice grips, and the gloves I wore washing dishes this morning?"

"Um, yes?"

* * *

"Ugh, my head," Martin groaned, stumbling to his feet. "Oh… where am I?"

It certainly wasn't Mossflower. It was a forest, in the middle of the night with the moon full and stars shining bright above. The trees were old and gnarled, with thick vegetation that towered above him. The outside of the forest was surrounded by fog, and the path behind him seemed to disappear to nothingness. Ahead was a massive wooden gate, already wide open and revealing a winding path through the trees ahead.

"Welcome to the Dark Forest, Martin," an oddly familiar female voice greeted. A figure in a white cloak glided into view in front of him. "This is where warriors gather."

"Really? Awesome!" the mouse exclaimed, taking her words at absolute face value. Then he realized something. "Wait, why haven't I heard about it before?"

"It's, um, not on normal maps," she answered, motioning for him to follow into the forest.

"Then how did you find it?" Martin questioned, furrowing his eyebrows as he enthusiastically trudged inside.

The answer came almost as a question, "The… dark web?"

"Oh, that makes sense," he replied, accepting the explanation. "I never checked that out. Couldn't figure out how to download the browser from the Tor website."

The figure laughed quietly. "Oh, Martin, you haven't changed a bit."

"I'm sorry, have we met?" he inquired. "I _really_ feel like I've seen- well, heard- you before."

"Yes, Martin, we've met." The figure turned and threw her hood down, revealing a face he hadn't seen in a long time, wearing a sad smile. "Done a whole lot more than met."

"Rose?" Martin stammered, completely shocked. He loudly interrogated, "Where have you been? I thought you died!"

"It's, um, a long and complicated story." She shifted and ground her feet in the dirt. "Some day I'll tell you the whole thing, I promise."

Finally, the warrior mouse sighed and asked. "Am I dead, Rose?"

"Well, see, that's kind of a complicated question…" she began to answer, before suddenly turning and pointing. "Hey, look, isn't that a neat rock?"

"Yeah, actually, that is a really cool rock," Martin agreed, running over to examine it. It was mostly smooth, with a rougher bottom, and its surface appeared almost iridescent in the moonlight. "Do you want to have sex on it?"

Rose shrugged. "Eh, sure."

* * *

A new dawn was beginning to break when the Long Patrol finally arrived in Mossflower. The army was tired after having marched for days, but wound up and ready for a fight. When they discovered Kotir ruined with its army shattered, they were initially quite confused.

Naturally, they sought out their leader for new orders. Of course, he was in no condition to give them, and when they discovered the mouse covered in blood and not moving with the corpse of Tsarmina still beside him, they were quick to draw their own conclusions.

"Looks like they killed each other. You know what this means."

"We don't answer to anyone now!"

"Right, then, back to the old mountain, shall we?"

"Jolly good idea, wot wot!"

"Nah, I think I'll just stay here."

"Very good, no one to order otherwise."

"See you around, old chap."

"Will do, mate. Safe travels, try not to get too drunk."

"No guarantees, bruv. What about you, over there?"

"Heading south, going to start an ice cream stand."

"Best of luck to you."

"Well, we'll be off now. Cheery-o."

Abbess Germaine couldn't help but shake her head as she observed the hare army chatter amongst themselves, then leave as soon as they arrived. She turned to her old badger friend. " _That_ was the army you were talking about?"

"Uh…" Bella stammered, scratching the back of her large head. "I mean, I don't see them _hurting_ us. The hares and badger are kind of a package deal. Honestly, I was just hoping my dad would come back and say he was proud of me."

"Anyone ever tell you that you have issues, Bella?" the Abbess asked casually, rooting around in her tunic. "You wanna light up and forget about them?"

The badger nodded. "Yeah, sounds like a good plan."

* * *

"So, uh, I dunno if you can hear me, matey," Gonff said from Martin's bedside. "But, uh, we won. Those rabbits showed up. I guess, I guess they thought you were dead, because they left right away."

He smiled sadly. "We won, matey. And a lot of us don't want to admit it, but we couldn't have done it without you. You kicked ass. And that's the truth.

"So, what's happened in the meantime? Well, not much. It's only been a day. A lot of rounding up prisoners, a few fights with some that wouldn't give up. We're not sure what to do with them yet, but I'm sure it will be fair and just." The mousethief paused. "It's going to be an all new Mossflower with Tsarmina gone. All goodbeasts, nobody to steal from."

He broke into laughter. "Who am I kidding? I'm still going to pinch everything that isn't nailed down. I'd feel bad about it, but I'll still do it. Maybe I can head to another land, sail the seas. Always wanted to be a real honest-to-goodness pirate.

"So, uh, Columbine's talking to me again. Thing is, I dunno anymore. Something happened, I don't know, I don't want to think about it, but she's changed. She's not the happy-go-lucky girl I met back then. She's all dark and broody now." Gonff shook his head. "But I guess I'm not the same anymore, either. This war's been hell on all of us. You know, maybe I'll just roll with it, see what happens? That's always worked out before.

"You just hang in there, matey. I know it's not the best surgery- I mean, most places, there'd be a malpractice suit- but we're all rooting for you." He closed his eyes, sighed, and stood to leave. "I know you're going to pull through. You've just got to believe it yourself."

* * *

"Sir, what do you think they're going to do to us?" Steelflower asked. Idly, she wriggled her paws against her bonds. Like most of Kotir's defeated army, she hid real fear beneath a layer of stoicism. The ground vibrated slightly beneath her, and she could hear chanting in the distance. The woodlanders celebrating their victory, perhaps.

"It won't be that bad," a bloodied rat with the insignia of a Lieutenant answered from a few spaces down the line. "If it's death, it'll be quick. More likely they'll lock us up for a while, then banish us."

"Hey!" an otter shouted at them. "We're lettin' the civilians decide what to do with you vermin. It's up to all those poor women 'n children you terrorized."

The stoat beside her muttered, "Oh, good, they're goodbeasts, they'll probably just make us do community service or something."

"Do you think so, sir?" Steelflower called to the Lieutenant.

"I think-"

"Stow the gab!" the otter snapped, whacking him with the butt end of her spear.

The chanting slowly grew louder, the ground shaking faster. It didn't seem like a celebration, it seemed downright ominous. When she could finally make out the words, it sent a stab of fear down her spine. "Rip them apart! Rip them apart!"

The ferret struggled in her bonds, trying to get a better view from her half-kneeling position. She twisted her hips and ended up falling over sideways.

A mob as wide as she could see came storming over the hill. It wasn't an army, but rather a motley collection of the men and women, young and old, of all shapes and colours, armed with whatever they could find and all with pure anger etched on their faces.

They wanted blood.

Seconds later, they were upon their prey. Steelflower screamed as she was literally torn limb from limb, her cries of agony mixing with hundreds of others to echo for miles around.

* * *

"Hey, how you doin'?" Dinny asked, stepping awkwardly toward Martin, lying unmoving in his bed. "I guess not too well, eh?"

"I mean, shit. I know we didn't see eye-to-eye, and I still ain't gonna call you my friend," the mole said, dropping down into the chair by the mouse's bed. "But man, that was a ballsy fucking move you pulled. You keep sayin' you're some heroic warrior or some fuckin' thing, and usually you're full of shit, but that? That was honest-to-God hero shit.

"So, uh, we took care of the prisoners. I thought we should just ship them as relief food to developing countries, but, well, nobody agreed with me. I bet you wouldn't have, either." He paused again. "So we let the civilians decide. Poetic justice, y'know? Let the victim decide. They, um, well, they tore apart the vermin. Literally.

"We've still got a few left, though," Dinny quickly added. "Some commanders, kings, bigwigs that called the shots. There's a special execution planned, a big show. Rock band, fireworks, formal reception and everything. It's the end of an era, we wanna make that clear."

"Then we gotta start a new one." He laughed. "It's gonna be a long road to rebuild, not gonna lie. We fucked Kotir six ways to Sunday when we attacked it, and then we burned down everything around it for shits and giggles after. Not a lot left, just a lotta woods, rubble, and an old quarry."

"The Abbess has this vision of a refuge for goodbeasts. Said it came to her in a dream, I dunno about that. Calls it… Haven. Gonna take a lot of builders to make it real." Another dry laugh. "I may be a mole man, but I don't know shit all about building. So I dunno 'bout me. Might just pack my things, drive back home or die trying."

He hesitated, then stood to leave. "Don't die on us, Martin. It might be better, but it won't be the same with you around."

* * *

"Citoyenne Gingivere Capet!"

He grimaced, glancing down at the chains wrapped around his paws. It seemed just yesterday that he was celebrating his newfound freedom with the very people who now wished him dead. He pointed this out to his escort, "I was on your side, you know."

The mouse literally spat on him in response. "Face your death with some courage, scoundrel."

As the dejected wildcat slowly ambled towards the gallows, the crowd began to yell and chant:

"End the corrupt dynasty!"

"Death to kings!"

"Justice!"

"Get rid of Greeneyes!"

Suddenly, Gingivere stopped in his tracks. Before the guards could react, he turned to the crowd and shouted, "Peaceful creatures of Mossflower! Why are you doing this?"

The crowd became quiet, surprised by the sudden burst of defiance.

"I have been on your side from the beginning. When Verdauga ruled, I was the voice of reason and mercy. I was framed and imprisoned by Tsarmina so she could take power for herself. And when I was freed, I fought beside you. I am not your enemy," he orated. "Yes, I am a wildcat of the Greeneyes dynasty. But if you are executing me because of who I was born as, you are no better than Tsarmina and her oppressive reign. Ask yourselves, all of you, is this who we are?"

The crowd began to murmur among itself, a questioning tone rolling across the gathered woodlanders. As soon as it had begun, however, it ended, and they were soon shouting again:

"He's a cat, cats are evil!"

"Just kill him!"

"History is written by the victors!"

"Skin the cat!"

His escort, without a trace of apology in his voice, told him, "Sorry."

Gingivere offered no answer, instead compliantly marching toward the guillotine. He closed his eyes and let himself be pushed down onto the board and slid into position. Seconds later, the executioner released the blade.

The last Greeneyes was no more!

* * *

They seemed to have been walking for hours and hours, paw in paw, when they finally paused near a rocky outcrop on the edge of the forest. It was still dark in the forest itself, but the sun was beginning to rise in the distance, its rays eerily stopping at the edge of the treeline.

"Unfortunately, this is it," Rose stated sadly. "It was good seeing you again, but it's time for you to go."

Martin The Warrior complained, "But Rooooooose…"

"This _is_ the afterlife, Martin. You weren't entirely wrong back there," she explained with a sigh. "The thing is, it's not your time yet. You've still got a whole book ahead of you, after all."

"Another book?" he questioned.

"Well, depending on your interpretation, maybe many more than that," Rose admitted. "Martin The Warrior. It sounds good, you know. And maybe you've finally earned it, but you have a legend to carry on."

The warrior mouse whined, "But I like it here!"

"I'm sorry, Martin, but you have to go back." She reached forward and gripped his shoulder tightly. "So wake up, Martin, wake up and smell the ashes…"

"Um…"

She quickly flicked her hood back over her head and started backpedaling, waving her paws. "Thus kindly I scatter… scatter… scatter…"

"We're both still here," Martin pointed out. Indeed, his companion was standing awkwardly between two gnarled trees.

"Sorry, my timing's off by about thirty seconds," she apologized awkwardly, fiddling with her paws. "It should happen any minute now. Boy this is awkward, eh?"

"Yeah. Pretty awkward-" Suddenly, Martin found himself falling, and the world went white.

* * *

"He's waking up!"

"Oh my God, it's a miracle!"

"Aren't you the one who operated on him?"

"Yeah, that's why it's a miracle."

Slowly, Martin The Warrior opened his eyes. He was in a rough bed, surrounded by the people he loved and also a bunch of people he didn't like very much.

"You can't kill me," he croaked. It wasn't supposed to be a croak, rather a badass boast, but his mouth was so dry and his throat so parched that was all he could manage.

"Alright, he's alive, if you bet against him, well, it was a safe bet but it didn't work out," Skipper of Otters announced to the room. "Just hand over your money easy-like, we're not savages."

"Wait, people considered me dying the _safe_ bet?" Martin questioned as money was grudgingly handed over and the room began to clear out.

"You were pretty fucked up, man," Dinny informed him. "And we literally burned down all the hospitals."

"But we had faith you'd pull through, right, matey?" Gonff said with a smile, punching Dinny lightly in the shoulder.

"I mean…" the mole said awkwardly. "I'm down two hundred bucks, let's just leave it at that."

The mousethief recoiled in shock. "Dinny, how could you?"

"I uh…" Dinny stammered before bolting out of the room, leaving the two mice alone.

"So, how do you feel, matey?" Gonff asked quietly.

"I had the best dream," Martin bragged with a smirk. "You would _not_ believe it."

"Oh, I'd believe it." He pointed awkwardly to a spot just below Martin's waist. "You, um, yeah."

"Um…" the embarrassed warrior coughed. "You know, I'm not gonna apologize. The dream was _that_ good."

 _Fin_

* * *

"Are you kidding me?" Martin The Warrior shouted angrily. " _That's_ what we're gonna end this on?"


	11. Epilogue

A very different epilogue from the original, but one I feel works a lot better. I missed the eleven-year mark by a day, but oh well. More author's notes at the bottom.

 **Epilogue**

Martin The Warrior recovered from his wounds. Though complicated by a post-operative infection and failure to properly follow instructions during traction, the warrior's tenacity never faltered, and he was soon back on his feet. When he saw the freed Mossflower he had been so instrumental in creating, he wept and hung up his sword.

Alas, Martin could not resist the call of the warrior for long. A few seasons after the fateful battle with Tsarmina, he journeyed north on a quest to discover his own origins. He had recognized his father's name in a traveller's song, and that was all the onus he needed. He returned with an incredible story and a tapestry that he claimed was of himself.

Even that quest could not sate his restless spirit. He was last seen leaving Mossflower on a quest to find Rose and the Dark Forest, which he believed was an actual physical place. Legend has it, however, that Martin's spirit remains in Mossflower, and inspires worthy warriors in times of need.

* * *

Gonff courted Columbine, and eventually, they were married and had a son, who he named after himself. They lived a simple, happy, and surprisingly honest life. With the vermin vanquished, there was no one Gonff could bring himself to truly steal from, and that suited him fine… for a time.

But the mousethief could never truly settle down, and after assisting Martin on his quest, disappeared on his own journey. Not coincidentally, millions of dollars of diamonds were stolen from a jewelry store in London a few nights later, and his family and close friends began receiving mysterious deposits from a numbered Swiss account.

Though many denied the allegations and hoped for his return, Gonff continued his life of crime, heisting everything from banks to office towers to luxury car dealerships. Eventually, an international team was formed to catch the infamous caper, and they caught up with him in a bank robbery gone bad in Tokyo. He was sentenced to many lifetimes in prison, but mysteriously disappeared before he could be locked up in jail.

* * *

Dinny never returned to his native Michigan. Instead, he settled down in the now peaceful land of Mossflower, which despite the complete and utter devastation of the war he felt had greater economic opportunities. He tried many occupations, such as tunneler, carpenter, plumber, software engineer, and a disastrous stint as Foremole, but could not settle on any of them.

Through a series of events lost to time, Dinny turned to studying linguistics and traditional mole culture. It is in academia where he found his awakening, and constructed a language now known as Molespeech. Panned by its critics as incomprehensible nonsense, proponents of Molespeech argue that it has unmatched clarity and expressive power. The language was quickly adopted by eager moles, and sales of learning materials and an autobiography quickly made Dinny a very wealthy mole indeed.

Ironically, though he had hated water for most of his life and never could properly swim, Dinny bought a boat with his newfound fortune and announced his attention to sail around the world. The trip was the subject of intense media attention, but quickly went awry. Many theories exist; everything from rocks to pirates to aliens to a valve accidentally left open- but no one truly knows what became of Dinny and the _Wuddship_.

* * *

Lady Amber and Skipper of Otters lead their bands into a new age of prosperity. Along with the other woodlanders, the squirrels and otters prospered. They continued to hone their warrior skills, but now for friendly sport rather than out of necessity. Their numbers grew, and they became staples of Mossflower life.

The two leaders spent a great deal of time together. For both of them, it was a strange new world. They had never known peace, and now were not quite sure what to make of it. To them, a warrior without a war was like a door without its handle; useless and left flapping in the breeze. They were not the only ones who struggled to find meaning in their new lives, but they were the most publicly known.

Still, they managed. Despite raising several mutant squirrel-otter hybrid children that could only be theirs, they continued to insist that, in fact, nothing was going on between them. The two even married, ostensibly as a tax dodge recommended by an accountant neither of them could name. In their old age, they retired in the same house, but told others that it was to save money, nothing more.

* * *

Abbess Germaine's dream, with the help of the freed goodbeasts of Mossflower, became a reality. Built on the ruins of Kotir of fine red sandstone from the same quarry, the stalwart abbey would represent everything the wretched castle did not. It would stand tall not as a symbol of brutality and oppression, but as a symbol of hope and freedom.

The abbey was to be known as Haven, but due to a botched zoning application, instead was named Redwall. For the same reason, it is also legally a shopping mall. After the initial snag, construction went smoothly. There was still a great deal of fear, and woodlanders were eager to contribute to the project. It took nary a season to complete the construction, and this was accomplished with few deaths and fewer grievous injuries.

Redwall became the hub of Mossflower, always ready to welcome travellers and traders, help goodbeasts in need, and well known for its incredible feasts. Though the inhabitants were peaceful, they were not afraid to defend themselves. A few vermin dared to journey into Mossflower after the fall of Kotir, and were swiftly dispatched. So far, Redwall has stood strong against all enemies.

* * *

And so ends the tale of Martin The Warrior, his heroic deeds and courageous exploits. But though this story is at an end, his will not be the last.

For all this has happened before, and all this has happened again.

Sooner or later, the vermin tides will once again return to Mossflower. And when that day comes, another warrior will rise, journey on an epic quest toward their destiny, and become a hero by defeating the evil hordes and winning freedom for goodbeasts once again.

Because war, war never changes.

* * *

"That's not what mister Abbott taught us, miz Bella," the little mouse complained, poking the old badger in the snout.

She smacked the paw away and downed the last of her whisky. "I like my version better. Didn't you?"

"Well… I guess," he reluctantly admitted. Then, suddenly, as youngsters did, he asked eagerly, "Do you have more stories?"

"I have many, about Martin, about Boar, and so many others," Bella told him. "But it's getting late, and I'm old and tired. So, I think those will just have to wait for another day…"

* * *

So… that's it. Honestly, I thought I'd have more to say at this point, but… that's kind of it. I'm not entirely happy with how this version turned out- the jokes aren't great, and trying to follow the original really broke the flow- but it was still a really interesting project to tackle.

I have a few projects in the pipeline, but I'm not really planning and big fanfics right now. That might change in the future, for now, I think this is it.


End file.
